Erebor, 3022: Ravenspeakers, A Courtship Year Story 2
by summerald
Summary: Post-LOTR AU! Prince Kili manages the challenges of keeping Erebor safe through a winter with heavy snowfall, relying on the ravens for news. But when the much needed Ravenspeaker in Dale can't be found, Kili investigates. What he finds threatens those he wants desperately to protect.
1. Chapter 1

**_Author's Notes: this follows the story Durin's Day, 3022 (18 chapters, complete.) While this work can stand alone, I invite you to read the prequel, if you haven't already. All feedback welcome, even if you're just finding the stories! _**

**_In the timeline, this story is about two months after the events in the first story, so it's roughly February. (Durin's Day is roughly Nov/Dec.)  
_**

**_Note about the year: several readers have pointed out that 3022 is a third age date, but it's really year one, fourth age. This is correct! I'm speculating that the Erebor dwarves didn't adopt the new year numbers (being rather stubborn and set in their ways.) Also, appendix A in RoTK shows the genealogy that Gimli sketched for King Elessar-and he clearly continued to use third age numbers. Hobbits never switched, either (they retained Shire Reckoning.) So 3022 it is!  
_**

Chapter One

Kili, Son of Durin, Prince of Erebor, Commander of the Guard, and newly betrothed of the healer trainee Nÿr, stood on the open parapet of Ravenhill wrapped in a fur-lined leather cloak, his wealth of black hair streaming behind him in the icy wind.

Beside him stood his oldest nephew Fjalar, a skinny lad half his uncle's height and eager for his first chance at Ravenspeaking. The youngster's sun-gold hair was much like his father's, minus a few streaks of sheer white, and his snow cloak sported the King's royal crest.

"You remember everything your father said?" Kili asked, watching his young nephew dart forward in hopes of looking over the edge.

"Of course." And then the lad stopped himself and backed up to take position again at his uncle's side. "I mean…yes, sir." Fjalar had been given strict rules, and his uncle had been given permission to enforce them.

Kili suppressed a grin. He recalled being Fjalar's age. So eager to learn and do new things, but also so impulsive and so easily distracted. He was certain he and his brother had driven their own uncle mad with it.

Which was one reason he had only one prince in his charge and not all three. Fact was, Fjalar might be a little young for this, but Erebor had only six capable Ravenspeakers. They needed more.

And winter had come to Erebor in a series of northern storms that blanketed the Mountain with a deep layer of snow and ice. Foot patrols were curtailed by deep drifts and dangerous ice, and lookouts were stymied by stormy cloud cover.

So in the rare daylight hours when skies cleared, those who could speak with Ravens were essential: for Ravens could fly reconnaissance across the lands around the Mountain and bring back critical news.

But the skill to be Ravenspeaker was found in a rare few: only those with the blood of Durin. Fjalar had become an obvious choice. Seven years older than his next sibling, the lad had to start training up to duty and service at some point, everyone agreed. So why not start here.

"Well, you've had plenty of advice about this." Kili winked at his nephew. "Time to give it a shot. You ready?"

The lad's eyes went wide, then he nodded.

"Hold your position here while I scout up the hill." Kili purposefully used Guard terms, hoping it reinforced discipline in the lad.

But he only walked a few paces away and looked up, scanning the cloudless blue sky. After a moment he raised his gauntleted arm and stood still.

"How do you call them?" Fjalar asked.

"You don't," Kili answered. "They just come along on their own when they see a Ravenspeaker. They know who we are."

"But they don't know me." Fjalar's expression was worried. It was his first day in training, and while he'd seen his father and uncle speak with ravens countless times, the ravens had never yet graced him with a single word.

"And that's lesson one. Introductions," Kili said. "Here's one—see him?" He lifted his chin toward the northwest. A sleek black body with outstretched wings soared overhead, wheeled about, then fanned its wingtips and began descending.

"Whoa," Fjalar breathed.

"Let me talk to him a moment," Kili said quietly, "And when he's ready, I'll bring him over to you for a chat." Kili took a few more steps away so the big raven would have room to land.

Kili could see Fjalar standing with his mouth half open in amazement as he watched the nimble bird maneuver in the wind.

And then the raven landed on Kili's forearm, claws gripping the gauntlet as he flapped and ruffled himself into position.

"Good morning, my friend," Kili murmured, recognizing the bird. "At your service, young Corax."

Fjalar was absently rubbing his own gauntlet, newly given to him by his father, as if he couldn't wait to feel a bird like Corax sitting on it and talking to him.

Corax bobbed and shook his head. "Much snow. Much snow," he said.

Kili angled a glance at his student, wondering if Fjalar had understood.

The lad's eyes were so big and round that Kili almost laughed. If only he'd thought to bring a sketch artist along to capture the moment.

"Yes," Kili said to the bird. "Snow everywhere. Did you find the nuts we left you on the western terrace?"

The raven nodded. "Many eat. We fly. We watch."

_Good,_ Kili thought. _We rely on that watchfulness. _"What news, then? Have you seen travelers on the roads?"

"No dwarves, no humans, no goblins, no orcs, no elves."

"Not even on the road to Ered Mithrin?" Kili was especially concerned about that group of exiles recently banished from Erebor.

"No dwarves, no humans, no goblins, no orcs, no elves," Corax repeated.

"Good to know." Kili nodded, raising an eyebrow at the order Corax used, with elves after orcs. "What about thin clouds…thin clouds that rise from the ground?" Kili asked. "Campfires? Chimneys?"

The raven looked from Kili to the mountain and back again. "Just the mountain. Just the mine."

"Good, good. Thank you. Anything else?" Kili had learned not to forget an opened-end question. Ravens could be very literal birds.

Corax flicked his tail, eyeing young Fjalar. "King but not King," he said.

Kili looked at his nephew and smiled. "Very good. Not King yet, anyway." He nodded at his nephew to introduce himself.

The lad stood bit straighter, then bowed. "Fjalar," he said. "At your service."

Corax bobbed and shifted his head to look at the youngster with his other eye. "Fledgling. Out of the nest."

Kili motioned for Fjalar to hold his arm up. The lad did, moving his feet apart to brace himself.

Kili gently carried the bird closer, talking as he went. "I would like you to talk with him, Corax. Would you do that?" He watched to be sure the raven didn't object. But Corax remained interested, shifting his head. Then he made a soft rattling noise in his throat that Kili recognized as a call Ravens used with their young. He nearly laughed out loud.

But he schooled his voice to serious matters. "Yes, he's a fledgling with much to learn. He will start coming out to Ravenspeak for us. If you see him, you can tell him things. Anything you know."

Kili stopped a few steps away from Fjalar.

Corax quorked loudly, startling the lad, and Fjalar's eyebrows shot up in alarm, but he didn't budge-he stayed firm. A moment later, the bird hopped from Kili's arm to Fjalar's.

The lad's arm dipped with the surprising weight.

Kili held up a _hush_ finger to remind him not to cry out or make a side comment. Ravens expected total attention.

"King but not king," Corax said to the lad.

Fjalar was nearly cross-eyed, looking at the bird. "The King is my father," he said. "I'm Fjalar."

The raven cocked his head, as if considering the youngster's worth. "No one to speak in Dale today," the bird said suddenly. "I say this to King but not King."

Kili frowned. He gestured for Fjalar to draw out the meaning.

"There's…no one in Dale to talk to?" the lad asked, unused to thinking on his feet.

The raven shifted on the lad's arm, his feet clutching and mincing. Kili saw Fjalar's jaw tighten, but he didn't cry out or even wince, even though ravens could certainly pinch when agitated.

"No one to speak. Look, look. No."

And with that, Corax launched himself into the air and flew south.

Toward Dale.

Kili frowned, watching him go.

"Why'd he leave?" Fjalar asked.

Kili smiled. "Because he was done!" He pulled his nephew into a hug. "Good job, lad! You did it!"

"I did?"

Kili tousled his sunny hair. "Ravenspeaker's apprentice, O King but not King."

Fjalar allowed himself to laugh, though he still looked half stunned.

"Come on, let's go report to your Da." Kili took off for the main gate, Fjalar gamboling joyously in his wake.

But as happy as he was for his young nephew, he was unsettled by the Raven's message.

_No one to speak in Dale today_ meant that the ravens had looked for but not found the Ravenspeaker posted in Dale.

Which, as Kili well knew, was exactly the kind of news that was often the harbinger of a bigger problem.

_**break**_

_**break**_

_Pronunciation note: "Fjalar" is a dwarf name listed in the Edda; the "j" is silent. So say it like Falar or even F'lar. (And yes, that's a tip of the hat to Anne McCaffrey!)_


	2. Chapter 2

Two

Lady Nÿr's morning schedule as a healer trainee had included rounds in the infirmary (currently holding two patients with head wounds and one forge apprentice with a bad burn) and assisting the senior midwife with pre-natal checkups for three mothers-in-waiting.

Now she had an appointment with a young Guardsman, almost fully healed from a badly broken leg.

In her pocket, she fingered a small piece of black dragonstone carved into the shape of a raven. Her intended, Prince Kili, had given it to her as a personal token on the day she'd been officially confirmed as a Ravenspeaker. She'd always been able to understand Erebor's peculiar black birds, but in the last few weeks he'd trained her to the protocols of the Guard, and the ravens now knew her as one of the dwarves to whom they could report news.

And the little stone carving had become a special signal between herself and her intended—a secret invitation to meet in her hidden study, the secret little room he'd given her for her own.

And she had already decided that she was sending the little token to him today, finally having an evening free just for the two of them.

But she needed an accomplice to make sure it landed in a place where Kili would be sure to find it, and here was just the lad she was looking for, Kili's young archer cadet, Skirfir, hobbling in on his crutches.

"Good news, Skirfir," she said, after a thorough exam of his left leg. The break had been clean and it was healing well. "No more crutches. Time to go without, I think."

The young archer smiled at her, eyes dreamy. He was thoroughly besotted.

His admiration embarrassed her, but she was getting used to it. In fact, it was the same reaction she got from all the young guard lads.

Kili had found the phenomena amusing when she'd told him about it, explaining it was partly their curiosity about the lassie brave enough to partner their Commander, and the rest their genuine fascination with any lass who paid them any manner of female attention. "And face it," he'd shrugged and grinned. "They just like you."

Still, she'd had to limit how many healer calls she'd make to the cadet dorm, handing the bulk of that work to the healer lads.

She held up the stone raven once her exam of Skirfir's leg was done. "I wonder if I might impose upon you for your help again," she said. "Think you can plant this where he'll find it?"

Skirfir blushed, nodded, and let her drop it in his hand. "Yes, my Lady. He's due in the command office a bit later."

She touched his arm. "Thank you," and felt her own face warm a little. Raised an orphan by a foster mother in Dale, Nÿr was not used to the kind of attention Erebor's Prince attracted. Not that he noticed it, either. He was just used to it and simply didn't let it distract him.

"I'm also sending a message up for you to return to light duty," she went on. "But don't overdo it. Keep up the doses of boneset tea, and I want to see you again in two weeks."

"By all means, My Lady," Skirfir grinned, clearly pleased for any excuse to be in the same room with her.

**break**

**break**

"Cadet Skirfir?" the grey bearded clerk assigned to the Commander's Office called for his presence. Skirfir had been waiting patiently since presenting himself with a request to meet.

Skirfir stood.

"Lost the crutches, eh laddie?"

"Yes, sir." He held his light duty notice in his hand, the raven token hidden in his pocket.

The clerk led him down a short corridor to the Commander's ready room. Kili was there, standing over plans laid out on a table.

"Come on in, lad," Kili waved a hand at him. He had pen and ink out, and was making notes. After a moment he set the quill aside.

Skirfir bowed. "At your service, my lord."

"As I am at yours," Kili answered, folding his arms and considering him. Skirfir was aware that his commander looked very serious. He held up the folded paper in his hand, then held it out.

Kili took it, quickly reading the note with the healer's mark. "Light duty! Good for you. The timing's just right." Kili set the note aside. "I'm headed on a quick trip to Dale, Skirf. Since we're riding, no reason you shouldn't come along. I could use your eyes and your bow."

Skirfir stood taller. "Right now?"

Kili grinned. "Tomorrow morning. The weather watchers say we're in for two, maybe three days of clear skies. There's a crew out clearing the road from the main gate now. Get a good night's sleep and hot breakfast."

"Yes, sir." As eager as he was to be back on duty, Skirfir couldn't help feeling relieved that it wouldn't start until tomorrow.

His commander looked puzzled at the reaction.

"It's only," he reached into his pocket. "Lady Nÿr passed this to me," he said. "Wouldn't want to disappoint her by you being gone." He'd never told her, but he had never quite been able to mysteriously leave the token as she asked. His loyalty to his commander couldn't have withstood the subterfuge. Instead, he always found a way to hand deliver it, fully transparent in his role as the go-between, at least to his Prince.

His commander raised his eyebrows and grinned, taking the little carved bird that Skirfir offered. "Were you supposed to leave it on my desk?" Kili's voice had an amused and teasing lilt.

Skirfir laughed. His prince, thank Mahal, understood the rules of the game.

"I just said you were due in the command office…" Skirfir shrugged and tried not to blush. He didn't know exactly what the token meant between his prince and the healer, but everybody knew they were intendeds…and no one inside Erebor was much fooled by the pretense of a chaste and proper courtship year. In fact, hardier souls had opened bets on the matter.

And the guards' money was firmly on _they're banging each other like Rhosgobel rabbits._

"Skirf?"

"Just…that's all."

"Well, mischief managed," Kili grinned, tucking the carved bird into a pocket. "How well do you know Dale, Skirfir?" He changed the subject.

Skirfir shrugged. "The usual pubs we visit on leave…"

Kili nodded.

"The shopkeepers' commons…the haymarket."

"Good. We're headed there to look for someone, but you will keep it under wraps. Your job will be to visit the pubs and ask around a bit." He circled his desk, opened a drawer and dug for something. After a moment he slid a few coins across the table. "Take those. They're small and random enough that they won't attract attention. Buy yourself a few ales and keep your eyes and ears open."

Skirfir nodded. He stepped forward, took the coins and pocketed them.

"We'll be looking for Duf, the Ravenspeaker. Do you know him?"

"I've seen him," Skirfir nodded. Duf was actually a distant cousin of his Commander and his King. Had to be, to be a Ravenspeaker.

"You'd recognize him, then?"

"I would, sir."

"Good lad." Kili nodded and picked up his quill again. "Be at the stables, one bell past sunrise tomorrow. No uniforms, dress warm. Bring your bow."

**break**

**break**

Kili skipped the evening meal.

Instead, he crossed the open-air walkways through the inner hub of Erebor and headed for the Halls of Learning, bypassing the main corridors and slowing at a six-way intersection marked by a statue of Jormund the Apothecary. He paused, pulling a note from his pocket as if checking a detail, and waited for a moment when the hall was free of onlookers. Then he slipped unseen into the plain, narrow passage that led to the secret hideaway they called Nÿr's Study.

It really was a study, to be sure. In fact, it had been his mother's study, used when she had been a lass learning under the schoolmasters. It held many shelves, a small library of books, and a large oak table suitable for evenings when they both needed to spread out papers and work in easy silence.

But there was also a fireplace with a plush rug and an overstuffed large chair…all of which could be invitingly comfortable and interestingly romantic.

He knocked twice on the door before putting his key to the lock.

But he didn't need it. The door opened to the sweet, serene smile of his intended, Lady Nÿr. He couldn't help but smile back.

He stepped inside, slowly reaching into his pocket and offering her the little carved raven.

Her hands were soft and gentle against his as she took it back, and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tall form tight against him, taking in the scent of her.

In a little while they would talk, and he would tell her that he was leaving the mountain tomorrow, that he might be gone a few days.

But first, they needed time together that had nothing to do with talking.


	3. Chapter 3

Three

Kili rode out from Erebor in the cold, crisp air of early morning with a small group of three plain-clothes guards, one old miner, and an extra pony. The guards were Skirfir, his young archer cadet, along with Var and Vit, two brothers originally from the Iron Hills who were a pair of wicked whirlwinds with their hillfolk maces. Kili, of course, rode with his bow and sword.

And the miner was his old friend Bofur, along for the ride since the old knees weren't up for the walk anymore, and he was always ready for sampling the winter ales in town. He also knew Duf the Ravenspeaker well, and he had an uncanny knack for uncovering details from people who'd had a bit more drink than they should.

"We get a run of good weather and it's like ants leaving the anthill," Bofur said, commenting on the string of travelers on the road. "Seems we aren't the only ones making a run into Dale."

Kili agreed. There were easily two or three hundred Erebor dwarves spread out along the way, most of them on foot now that the road had been cleared.

"All the better for us," he said. "Easier to blend in and find Duf without attracting too much attention."

"Any idea what's wrong with him?" Bofur asked.

"No idea," Kili said. "The ravens just report that they can't find him, and we don't actually have enough Ravenspeakers to just let one vanish."

"Speaking of ravens," Bofur said, nodding his head to the south.

Kili looked up. There was indeed a raven circling inbound. He slowed his pony to drop back from the others and give the bird room. He raised his hand to the sky, and moments later Corax was on his arm, flapping and unsettled.

"Hello, Corax," Kili spoke softly. "What' the fuss? Easy now." Kili stopped the pony completely, hoping the bird would settle. His escort halted as well, and Kili saw Skirfir turn in his saddle, bow at rest, but an arrow knocked and ready. His sharp eyes roved the area.

Corax ruffled himself several times, then eyed Kili. "No one to talk in Dale."

"Yes, I know," Kili said. "We're going there to look for him."

Corax shook his tail and then stood on one foot to scratch his ear. He eyed Kili again and rubbed his impressive beak back and forth on the metal buckle of Kili's vambrace. It was typical beak sharpening behavior.

"Are you telling me to sharpen my sword?" Kili asked, half amused. "Or am I just a convenient scratching post?"

Corax looked at him quizzically and Kili wondered if the birds could laugh.

"Men with blood in the streets," the raven said. "Much squawking. Men with blood."

This got Kili's attention. "With swords?" he asked. "Bright sticks?" He offered the term many ravens used.

"Just blood. Men with blood."

"Fighting? Fists and heads?"

Corax bobbed. "Strike and peck. Blood."

"Thank you." He considered the information. "Happening now? Right now?"

Corax ruffled. "In the night. Others of us watch. Roost on rooftops. Strike and peck in the night."

"But it's quiet now?"

"Quiet now, yes. Quiet now."

Kili relaxed a bit. Strike and peck in the night probably meant a bar brawl with fists and knives that had spilled into the streets. The heavy snow that had Erebor shut tight was worse in Dale. At least the vast interior of Erebor allowed for normal activity. The men of Dale would be confined to their homes and even a trip to the pub would require going out in the weather. In Kili's experience, men's tempers were too often on edge when confined that way, especially when drunk. Intoxicated dwarves might get unruly and start a food fight. Drunk men more often turned mean, cruel, and genuinely destructive.

"Thank you, Corax," he said. He looked back toward Erebor. "Might you deliver a message for me?"

Corax was still, attentive.

"Fly to ravenhill. Look for King but Not King. For Fjalar. Tell him two bells. Two. Understand?"

"Two bells."

"Yes."

With that, Corax looked toward the mountain, cocked his head, and took off.

Kili watched him go. He wished he could see Fjalar's face when the bird descended to him, wished he could see the lad get the coded message and sprint for his father's chamber.

And he wished he could see his brother's quiet pride when he accepted his young son's report and thanked him for his duty.

But he could not. He'd ask about it later. Fjalar would be thrilled to tell him all about it.

He clucked to his pony and rode up to join Skirfir, who turned and followed.

"Heads up, lads," he said, once the others were in earshot. "Ravens report fighting in the streets last night. Best be on our toes. Could be riding into a fight."

"When was that ever untrue," Bofur grumbled.

**break**

**break**

As it turned out, it was old Dwalin who sat with young Fjalar during his first watch on Ravenhill. Other Ravenspeakers were stationed on the western terrace, on the snowy heights, and on the northern spur. But Ravenhill was the most secure and well guarded, and the best place for the young apprentice as well as for the old master. Time was catching up with Dwalin, and the frailty of age was taking its toll. He sat, bundled in extra warm boots and cloak, and leaned on his gnarled staff.

"Keep an eye out," Dwalin instructed. "Yours are sharper than mine."

Fjalar nodded. "Yes, sir." He was much on his best behavior and though it was a struggle, stood straight and still as he could. Problem was, there were ravens everywhere in the morning hours. His uncle had explained that this was normal bird behavior, but Fjalar found it confusing. How was he supposed to tell a normal flying raven from one that wanted to speak?

But when he saw one approaching straight in at speed, he couldn't contain his excitement.

"Mr. Dwalin! One's incoming. Right there!"

"Steady now," Dwalin coached. "Present your arm to him."

Fjalar did, bracing himself again, expression worried. Ravens were so much heavier than they looked.

**break**

**break**

Dale had thrown open its gates for the visitors travelling down from Erebor. Kili knew they did it for profit, but it helped that they were genuinely friendly and welcoming about it.

Bofur played up his role, joking with the guards and elbowing a rather shocked young Skirfir when he hinted at visiting the part of town where the alehouses provided ancillary services.

"It's known as the Red Silk Quarter," he said, leaning toward the lad.

Kili rolled his eyes. It was the kind of banter expected from rough and tumble miners, but Skirfir looked scandalized.

"There's one place called the Tie Down, I think they call it," Bofur was telling them as the rode past the city gate. "Kind of a kinky reference, if you ask me. But they do a half and half kind of business. For men and dwarves alike, you know."

"Stick to the pubs, Bofur," Kili told him, shaking his head. "You're looking for Duf, not a lady friend."

"How do you know Duf wasn't after a lady friend?" Bofur asked.

Kili looked at him with a lowered head, locking eyes with his old friend. They were talking about Dori's nephew, a nut who hadn't fallen far from his uncle's tree.

"All right, I get your point," Bofur said. "Never mind. Maybe the Bricklayer. Good pub, that one. Up on Brewer's Lane. And just in time for lunch."

"Good choice," Kili agreed, riding up beside Skirfir to have a word. "Keep your head, lad, and don't let Bofur's chatter distract you. He's the best there is at getting people to say things they don't mean to say. Look around if you need to, but don't get separated. I'll meet you in the market square at thirteen bells."

"Got it," Skirfir nodded.

With that, Bofur and Skirf headed for the pubs, while Kili, with the two brothers and the extra pony, rode for the King's embassy.

The gatehouse guards had not recognized Erebor's prince riding in plain clothes.

The staff at the embassy, of course, knew him on sight, regardless of his dress. He left the brothers with the ponies and let himself be shown into a comfortable meeting room. He gratefully accepted a flagon of the best winter ale with a plate of bread and exquisite cheeses, with assurances that the same would be sent out to his companions.

"Well met, Prince Kili," young King Bard joined him, greeting him with hand over heart. He was the new King, Bain's grandson and named after the very Bard (long dead now) that Kili had once met in Laketown.

"At your service," Kili bowed. "My thanks for your hospitality."

"I hear congratulations are in order-you are betrothed of our Lady Nÿr!" He poured himself ale and refreshed Kili's flagon. The Dale men considered Nÿr "theirs" as she'd grown up in town.

Kili nodded. "About time, according to my brother."

"I hope my words about her last time we spoke did not find offense," Bard looked concerned. He'd spilled the beans about her past relationship with a man.

Kili shook his head. "Heard all about it. And I'm sure your grandfather told you all about the story with me and the elf. He was there, after all. So who am I to judge?" He grinned, shrugged, and raised his flagon.

Young Bard laughed and raised his flagon in kind. "Indeed, I know the story well. Mind you, it's considered a state secret." He drank.

"My thanks for that." Kili widened his eyes as if to say he could do without the gossip it would cause if known.

"So what brings Erebor's prince into our snowy little town?"

Kili took another swallow of young Bard's fine ale and considered the lad. "I hear you're having trouble on the streets at night," he said.

Young Bard nodded. "Smugglers. They're holed up in the ale district, but I'd just as soon they moved on."

"Smugglers." Kili set his ale down. This was news. "Where from?"

Young Bard nodded. "Group of dwarves…seven or eight, including two lasses. One wagon, couple ponies. Came down from the Withered Heath about two storms ago. They've been rough, but nothing we can't handle. They have coin, they pay their bills. Said they'd been headed for the Mountain, but now that they're snowed in, didn't see a reason to go the extra miles."

Kili thought about this. He'd had a report from the ravens about that time, of a single wagon with two dwarves. Five or six had apparently stayed out of sight.

"What are they selling?" he asked.

Young Bard frowned. "You know, I don't think any of us have quite figured that out."

Kili pondered that. Seven or eight dwarves, two lasses, one wagon, couple ponies, no apparent goods.

To him, that didn't add up and he was about to say so when an officer of the Dale constabulary entered the room.

"My lord," he said to young King Bard. "Riot in the streets. Red Silk Quarter."

Bard rose, looking exasperated. "Want to join me?" he asked Kili.

"Wouldn't miss it," Kili replied.

****Note: Chapter Four had to be reposted due to a display error...look for it at the end of the chapter list, as it's now out of order in the drop down menu. Ergh. Apologies.****


	4. Chapter 5

Five

Kili couldn't have put two words together if he tried. It was Bofur who managed to save the moment.

"Let's hear it for Ruby!" Bofur shouted, taking the attention off Erebor's prince. "My dear lady…bright as jewels and a heart of gold," he wrapped a congenial arm around the shoulders of the plump dwarf madam as if she were a beloved old friend.

Bard spoke up then. "You'll have to tell the entire story, now," he said, turning her to face the crowd. "Tell them how you came upon a group of travelers, ambushed by orcs, and took a poor orphaned babe from her dying mother's arms, swearing to protect her with your very life."

"Aye, that I did. A group of noble travelers, from their look." Ruby wiped an eye. "Promised to hide the wee lass away from the evils of the dark lord himself."

"Aye," Bard agreed. "And then did so! Hiding her right here! In plain sight!" He raised a hand to the ceiling of Ruby's House. "Brilliant!"

Ruby nodded, hand on her chest as if touched. "And made sure she always had the best, I did."

"Of course you did," Bard nodded, then planted a big, wet smack of a kiss on the madam's cheek.

"And she lived quite a sheltered young life, that one did," one of the other working lasses stepped up. "Schooled with the townfolk, all very proper." She was nodding, getting the others to do the same.

"And no need to work," Madam Ruby said with pride. "I made double sure she only walked the respectable side of the house, because I knew, whoever her people were, they weren't scrappers like me, I can tell you that. She's always been our little princess," Ruby's voice broke, tears of pride on her cheeks as she glanced back at Kili. Bard offered a linen handkerchief.

The crowd ooohed and ahhhed, patting each other's hands and smiling at the very idea of Durin's wee lassie, since they all knew her as a ravenspeaker now, taken in and protected by such big hearted gals of the red silk trade.

Kili felt himself breathing again, thanks to Bard and to Bofur. As exasperating as the old miner could be, no one alive could think faster on his feet, and he had just neatly turned a disaster into a charming fairy tale.

The crowd around them was clearly hanging on every word, their expressions sympathetic.

Mahal's stones, he thought. They might be lucky enough to dodge the consequences of this news. Erebor's dwarves looked charmed by idea of a royal daughter being sheltered and protected by her rougher kind. The Dale people looked proud.

But his relief didn't last.

"Tell them about the man, Jon Spear," one of the lasses shouted. "A dream of a first love if there ever was. He could have had any girl, woman or dwarf, and our little lass snagged him!"

Mahal. Kili could have lived the remainder of his days without knowing the man's name.

"Moved her right in, he did," another piped up. But the crowd had become quiet.

"For as long as it lasted," someone else said.

Ruby's face went as bright as her name. "None of that," she said gruffly, glancing at Kili. "All in the past, all in the past. Puppy love, nothing more."

Kili spoke up, knowing he had to. "And well and truly over," he grabbed Bofur's tankard and raised it. "Since I've heard the whole short, sweet story of it. And truth be known, who am I to talk?" He grinned, intentionally conveying that his own exploits would be far less likely to stand up under scrutiny. And, he reflected, they wouldn't.

Bard laughed loud and raised the first tankard in response, the rest of the pub following suit.

"To the past!" he shouted. Chatter resumed, though not as loose and loud as it had been moments earlier.

Kili drank, fending off Bofur's hand as the old dwarf attempted to get his ale back.

But the damage was done. Kili could see it in the scandalized looks of the merchant dwarves and the sudden serious faces of the guard. He might be forgiven any youthful indiscretions (though he was sure the part about the elf would be an exception,) but lassies were held to a very different standard. Pretty unfair, he thought. If you ask me.

He let Bofur have the tankard, mostly empty, and wiped his mouth.

And wondered for a moment whether he could get back to Erebor before the gossip did…and then realized with a sinking heart that the answer was no. He would send a coded message by raven, and would do so in any case to alert them to the smugglers and the odd unrest. But any one of these people could leave here now and be back inside the mountain by mid-afternoon.

And the news about Nÿr would run like fire through Erebor twenty times over before dinner.

The Lady Nÿr and the man from Dale.

She didn't deserve it. Everything he knew and loved about her told him that.

He turned to see Bofur staring at him.

"You already knew about this," Bofur said, deadpan. His eyes were solemn and sympathetic.

Kili took a breath. "Yes. But I'm pretty sure no one else did," he said, meaning the people of Erebor.

Bofur had the good sense to say nothing.

**break**

**break**

Nÿr's first hint that something was wrong occurred when her late afternoon appointments assisting the senior midwife were suddenly cancelled. Then her last visit to an older matron in the lady's quarters was met with a, "No, not today," and a slammed door.

And that's when Nÿr began noticing hushed words spoken from behind hands and saw the slanted looks.

Whatever it was, she could tell a cold shoulder when she got one.

And then there was the confrontation in the trainee's dining hall. It started with a bump and spilled tea.

"I'm sorry," Nÿr said, automatically apologizing.

Three lads blocked her way.

"She even looks like one," one of them said.

The other two huffed and chuckled. It was not friendly banter.

"Too tall and too skinny," one of the others said in tones that might have described soiled bedlinens. "And you know what? I already put money on the King calling off the wedding."

The last lad let loose with a slur in khuzdul that she wasn't even sure she fully understood.

"Take your dinner elsewhere," the last one said. "And stay away from real dwarves."

And her way had been blocked. She had looked them in eye, one after the other, uncertain about the hostility. But she was met with hard-eyed intransigence.

She wasn't going to waste time on it. She turned and left, oddly shaken.

That was when she headed for the one person who might help her.

At the entry to the King's private chambers, the royal guard on duty looked down her nose.

"The Prince, Lord Kili, is away," she said. Clearly she would say nothing more.

Nÿr frowned. "Yes, I know. He told me last night. I'm here to call upon Lady An."

The guard was unmoving.

Nÿr looked at the closed door. She had one last card to play, given to her by Lady An on that evening two months back when the marriage proposal had been accepted.

She raised her chin and spoke clearly. "By the last light of Durin's Day, I request an audience with the Queen."

The guard's expression went blank, then the stubborn woman inclined her head in the slightest nod and stalked inside.

A long few minutes later, the door locks clicked open and Nÿr was admitted, finding herself surrounded by no fewer than six Royal Guard.

And she was not allowed to take herself into the family quarters but was escorted into the formal sitting room.

"Oh, really," Lady An said when she entered, seeing all of the security protocol in place when it was only Nÿr. "Shoo, all of you."

The female guard began to object.

"I know what you've heard and it's not your business. Go on!" She ushered them out, then turned and took Nÿr by the elbow, turning her from the door as it closed.

"What have they heard…?" Nÿr asked, her gut suddenly feeling hollow. "Lady An?"

An made an impatient gesture. "Gossip. From the ones who were down in Dale today."

Nÿr's spine felt iced. "Dale? Is Kili…?"

"He's fine." An stopped, meeting Nyr's eyes. "But apparently he met your foster mother and there was a very revealing conversation witnessed by a quite a crowd."

Nÿr froze. "I don't want to hear this," she said, turning to leave.

An grabbed her hand.

"It's a rumor about a man in Dale," she said. Their eyes met and Nÿr saw that her Queen was seeking the truth. "Is it true, Nÿr?"

But Nÿr couldn't think. She broke free of Lady An's grip and fled.

**break**

**break**

Fjalar, young Prince of Erebor and newly appointed Apprentice Ravenspeaker made his way through Erebor's imposing Main Gate by himself. He had completed his second shift standing on the hill and listening to the ravens that flew in, and Old Dwalin had sent him off.

It was harder than it looked, having to stand there for hours.

But he couldn't get over the fact that he was _allowed outside_, and more importantly, there were no nannies, tutors, or chamberlains watching over him.

He was with warriors now. And that was the _best thing ever_.

If only his uncle had been there. It was an honor to have Old Dwalin, but the old dwarf dozed off more than he talked. And he was gruff. Uncle Kili was so much more fun, and he could actually talk to his uncle. Everyone else just expected him to nod and listen.

Fjalar made it to the gatehouse and waited for the duty captain to assign an escort to take him back to his family's quarters, just as he'd been told to do by his mother. The gatehouse was a beehive of activity, though. It was the coded messages, Fjalar realized. Something about them had the Gate Battalion mustering and the duty captain pre-occupied. Fjalar was politely asked to wait, then put aside, and finally he was feeling completely forgotten.

And really, he didn't see why he couldn't just take himself home. His mother was being a worry wart. He mulled over the strict words his father had given and couldn't recall anything about needing an escort home. In fact, a warrior dwarf didn't interfere with bigger duties, like a muster. It was childish, really, to expect someone to make time for him.

Plus, he'd heard about a particularly interesting secret door just past the King's Hall that led to a shortcut straight up to the Halls of Learning, and from there to the observatory. He could visit both places and still be home before his mother worried—and the Gate Battalion wouldn't have to be bothered. Besides, if he was old enough to be a Ravenspeaker, his mother could well accept that he was old enough to walk home.

So Fjalar threaded his way through the crowd and raced for the King's Hall.

The little passage to the secret door had to be just about here, he thought, reaching a row of pillars. He weaved around them, a small figure at the foot of such dark, towering monoliths. He quickly realized how alike the stonework was, all repeating patterns and designs. A few people glanced curiously at him as they passed, obviously wondering what a lad was doing there alone. But he ducked them and they moved on.

He crossed to the other side of the hall, figuring he had gotten turned around. He searched the stonework, looking for what he thought should be a panel with a geometric gem pattern.

"Hey," someone whispered.

Fjalar looked up, completely surprised that someone else was here. He saw the dark eyes of an unfamiliar merchant lady.

Strong grip on his arm; a cloth coming up to cover his nose and mouth.

A sharp, stinging odor.

And everything went completely black.


	5. Chapter 6

Six

Kili's head whirled with an overload of unexpected information. Thankfully, Bofur had perched himself on the bar with a refilled tankard and was leading a joyous round of _The Lusty Lasses of the Love Nest._ Young Bard was singing along at his side and Madam Ruby worked the crowd, reeling in customers for the upstairs trade.

This day had certainly gone sideways, in Kili's opinion. But he knew a diversion when he saw it, and he hunkered down with a fresh tankard of ale and tried to pull his thoughts together while the party roared on around him.

And one thing was bothering him more than anything else—the voice of the dwarf lass who'd revealed the name of Nÿr's former lover to the crowd. There was something familiar about its grating sharpness…

_Tell them about the man, Jon Spear! _Her words echoed in his brain. He sipped his ale. The song shifted into a rowdy refrain.

And suddenly, he made the connection. _My lord, what about me?_ Same voice, same imperious tone. He'd last heard it on Durin's Day two months back, in the King's Hall inside Erebor.

Yngvli's older daughter.

Sentenced as banished along with nine others on the day that Fili had summarily executed Aurvang, traitor kin to the Grey Mountains King.

Executed was the polite word for it, Kili acknowledged. In truth, his brother had whacked off the bastard's head in a fit of Thorin-worthy rage. It had flown most of the way across the hall…bloody mess everywhere.

And that's when Yngvli's older daughter had stepped up and dared to ask, _My lord, what about me?_

Fili had drawn his long knife so fast that Kili had thought he would skewer the lass.

Which is exactly what he himself wanted to do now.

_Be it known to the Guard of Erebor that any of these seen returning to our lands shall be executed on sight! _Fili's public judgment of Aurvang's accomplices had included Yngvli's older daughter.

And fact was, a treaty existed between Erebor and Dale…neither kingdom interfered when it came to justice for criminals. Dale was no refuge for anyone banished for eternity from the lands of Erebor.

Kili rose from his bench, smiling absently at the lads around him. He made his way slowly around the room. He wanted a good look at her. That was all he needed. But she was no longer among the crowd inside the public room.

He found her in a side hallway with her back to the wall and her hands on a Dale dwarf. One look at the Prince and the dwarf fled.

"You're too late," she taunted him, obviously drunk. "By now my sister has done her deed."

Kili advanced, silent. It was Yngvli's older daughter. No doubt. His right to exact justice was clear.

"She's inside your precious mountain." She laughed and schooled her expression to one of derision. "Making sure your high and mighty brother gets what's coming. Smuggle some gold from the mountain, hmmm?" she smirked. "Little Durin child, suitable for a bit of bloody sacrifice and payback?"

Kili's blood went cold.

She had the nerve to look him up and down and raise an eyebrow, as if inviting him to have his way.

But Kili's way involved one thing only: justice by sword. One thrust upwards into her heart, a twist, and no words.

Because he never wanted to hear the sound of her voice again.

**break**

**break**

Kili found the hill brothers outside. With few words, they immediately took up the task of body removal to the city constable with the explanation of Erebor royal justice. The constables would take it up with their King, but Kili would handle that when the time came.

He found himself a quiet spot in an open alleyway and raised his arm. Evening was coming on, and the time for ravens to settle and roost would be upon them soon. The Dale ravens weren't as easy to coax down, but to Kili's grim satisfaction, Corax was back.

"Fly to the King, Corax. Fast. Fly inside the mountain and raise an alarm until people open doors and let you in. Take friends with you for extra noise."

Corax crouched, eyes wide at the fierceness in the Raven Prince's words.

"Tell him this: Ynglvi's younger daughter. Inside the mountain. Five bells red."

Corax cowered.

"Calm down. I need you to do this. Say it back for me, Corax."

Corax did.

"Good bird," Kili crooned. "Fine bird. Best." Corax stood now, ducked his head and preened one feather in a quick motion.

"Yes," Kili assured him. "Fine bird. Remember: fly fast, and go inside to the King."

"I will," Corax bobbed. "O Raven Prince. This I will."

And then he shot into the sky, Kili boosting him with a lift off from his arm.

_Fly fast, my friend,_ he thought, watching the sleek black raven winging north to the mountain as the pale winter sun just began to set.

**break**

**break**

Nÿr was not quite sure how she'd made it to her hideaway study, she only knew that it was the only place she could go to get away from the judgment and disapproval all around her. When she slammed the heavy door closed, she double checked the locks and then collapsed on the floor, letting herself cry in earnest.

What had she been thinking, letting herself get caught up in this idea that no one would ever find out or even care about her past? Mahal, if she could go back in time and tell her younger self that she was making a mistake, she'd do it in a heartbeat.

But she knew how she'd been in those days, a good forty years back. Spoiled by her foster mother, a bit too sure of herself, and eagerly attracted to the edgy side of life, despite all of Ruby's hopes and sacrifices and warnings.

She'd learned quickly that while some dared to tread the path of human-dwarf love, it was a challenging road and not for the faint of heart.

Which described Jon Spear quite aptly. Unable to withstand the public disdain, he'd turned tail and left—but not before raising his hand against her, leaving her beaten in body and spirit.

That's when the old dwarf healer, Bari son of Boru, had taken her in. There were many who'd written her off, who figured she was good for nothing more than a place in her foster mother's business.

But Bari had been the first understanding male figure in her life, and in his grandfatherly way, he had shown her a path that embraced kindness and healing. She had rejected Ruby, then. And when Bari passed away some thirteen winters later, Nÿr had finally acted on his advice to go to the Erebor healers for formal training and make good on his faith in her.

She sniffed and wiped her nose on the back of her hand. She wished he was here now. Old Bari, ever the calm, wise teacher.

She grabbed the soft throw off the big chair next to the door and buried her face in it.

It still held the strong scent of Kili—that lovely, subtle musk mixed with leather and wood smoke.

_Kili…_ Her mind filled with the memory of that night trapped with him on the snowy mountain. He'd found her shivering and pulled her close, wrapping her with his warmth, surrounding her with a simple, straightforward love. She'd confessed her past, and he had just easily accepted it as over and done.

She wanted that now. She wanted _him_ now.

But he wasn't here, and all she could do was clutch the little blanket in his place.

**break**

**break**

Lady An's day ended with a meeting over arrangements to host an envoy from Ered Luin, due any day. Then she approved the design of her daughter's Equinox Banquet dress and settled an argument about wines for the menu.

It wasn't until he was at least a bell overdue that she noticed there had been no sign of her elder son.

It didn't take her long to run the course of several inquiries and come upon the watch captain, suddenly distraught at his obvious dereliction of duty when it came to the young prince.

Lady An lifted her skirts and ran to the great doors of the King's Court, arriving at the same time as a half dozen screaming ravens.

"Open the doors!" she demanded. "Let them in!" She didn't know how she knew, but she felt it in her soul that the ravens were an omen.

The court stopped in shocked silence when the birds raced in followed closely by a much panicked Queen.

Lady An was not known for theatrics.

"Fili!" she called, cursing the over-grand size of the place. "Fjalar! He's overdue. No one's seen him."

Fili rose but didn't get five steps toward his wife before he found himself swarmed by ravens.

Their cries alarmed everyone, but one raven in particular was frantic. Instead of landing on the King's proffered arm, it clutched onto his shoulder, claws gripping the cloth as if desperate to deliver its message.

To Lady An, who could not understand ravenspeak, it sounded like panicked screeches.

To the King, it was the worst news he'd heard in months.

"Search the mountain," he demanded. A squad of royal guard formed up, waiting for more direction. The ravens circled, then arrowed away.

Lady An's frightened eyes locked onto her husband's.

"Yngvli's younger daughter," he snarled, his face hard with fury. "And she's after my children."


	6. Chapter 7

Seven

The Erebor Guard went into a flurry of activity and the King joined in. They were turning the mountain inside out, including searches of the mine and every old, unused tunnel high and low.

"I want my son," Fili had growled, his voice rising. "And I want that _abzaginh _alive and begging for mercy."

They all knew the lass in question—banished not two months back. A Grey Mountain traitor, and as their King had named her, an _abzaginh. _A poisonous bitch who had, in fact, attempted murder on her own king.

The people of Erebor, aghast at the news that the renegade lass had returned and was inside the mountain itself, complied willingly, and in many cases joined the hunt with a passion.

She was found by kitchen maids hiding in a food pantry.

And the kitchen maids weren't kind as they dragged her out and shoved her along, having armed themselves with an astounding array of wicked-looking culinary tools.

The King was even less kind. Fili's royal mother, proud sister of Thorin Oakenshield, had taught him well to be gentle and considerate with lasses, young and old.

But he'd also seen her exact justice upon them in his uncle's absence, and being far tougher than humans, dwarves did not hesitate to use force on each other when warranted.

Fili took custody of Yngvli's daughter by grabbing a fistful of her hair and slinging her across the King's Hall as easily as he'd beheaded her lover, Aurvang.

"Where is my son?" he advanced, unsheathing his long knife and pointing it at her.

She pushed herself up slowly, blood on her mouth. She sneered at him. "Like I would tell you."

Fili grabbed her foot and dragged her a good twenty paces across the floor. She scrabbled at the smooth stone, looking for a handhold but not finding one.

Fili dropped her within the circle of a curious pattern in the marble, a swirl of mithril dotted with ancient symbols. "Do not move," he said, pointing the knife at her and walking to circle's edge. She looked over her shoulder at him, making a face.

Fili didn't care. He motioned for something with one hand.

Old Dwalin stepped up, handing over a tall, metal staff and then gesturing for the bystanders to step back.

There was a reason Erebor belonged to the Line of Durin, and everyone in the King's Hall was about to see why.

The very stone would sing for them if they asked it.

Fili turned the staff over once, chanted something harsh and short in Khuzdul, and stabbed the staff into the floor.

A sparking, silver-grey light circled the pattern, tracing a perimeter around the Grey Mountain lass.

"No one can lie to me from the Circle of _Ahyrunu." _Fili said, loud enough for everyone to hear. He waited for her to test the confines. She leapt up as if to run and promptly fell back hard, having hit something no one could see.

"Where is my son?"

She writhed in silent resistance and the circle of light sparked brighter, strengthened as if fueled by the fury of the King, the golden-haired Son of Durin whose fierce grip held the staff to the stone.

"Gone!" she spat finally, gasping for breath. "Long gone. Packed up and sent outside the mountain hours ago."

**break**

**break**

Fjalar woke alone in the dark, completely disoriented, really cold, very cramped, and far too frightened to cry out or even utter a sound. He was on his back, inside some kind of box so short that his knees were bent and his shoulders hunched. When he reached out a hand, he bumped up against rough wood.

And before he could make any real sense of things, the box was dumped over and he found himself on hands and knees, then on his side, and finally on his head. Luckily, he was able to wriggle himself upright.

_Someone grabbed me_, he remembered. _And now I'm in a crate_. He felt around, trying not to panic. He felt for corners and edges. There, on the right hand wall, a knothole with very cold air streaming in. He scrunched himself to press his eye against it, but couldn't see much. Another one, on the ceiling. Nothing much to see there, either. All he could tell was that he was outside, and it was dark.

He heard footsteps approaching, crunching in the snow. He shrank back from the knothole.

A rough bang and jostling.

_I'm on a snow-skid_, he realized. _And someone just added another crate. _More details were coming back to him now. He'd left the guard post by himself, he'd gone looking for a hidden door, and someone had come from behind and covered his nose. Knock-out stuff, like healers used when they had to do something really painful to you. He recalled the glimpse of a merchant lass's face.

Oh, Mahal. He was in soooo much trouble when his mother found out. And he didn't even want to face his father or his uncle. They didn't do it often, but he'd been on the receiving end of a really good whack enough times to know that particular punishment was best avoided.

_Da, I'm sorry,_ he sat back and wrapped his arms around himself. Right now he wanted nothing more than to be safe inside his father's strong embrace, pressing his face against him and just hanging on.

A little involuntary whimper came out. _Please come get me, Da!_

But no one even knew he was here, he was sure of it. How he was ever going to get out of this?

_First, stay quiet, _he told himself, forcing away the threat of tears. _Better if they think you're still knocked out. _Then his uncle's words from self-defense games were coming back to him. _Always look for what you have and how you can use it. _

He patted his coat. He'd started carrying knives in his gear like his Da. He'd even swiped needles and thread from his mother's maids and added secret sheaths himself. There—one, two…and three. He had three of his knives still with him.

_That's a start,_ he told himself.

Then he heard voices.

Not Erebor dwarves. Sounded like two men and one foreign dwarf.

Someone thumped the other box.

"This one's got the gold," the foreign dwarf said. "This one," there was a loud bang on Fjalar's box near his left knee, "Carries the real treasure. Wealth of ransom. Or just kill the lad for sport and there's one less Son of Durin in the world."

Fjalar sank down a bit, eyes wide, hand clutching the hilt of his bigger knife. He swallowed.

"Garn," said one of the men. "I say kill him."

"Sure," the foreign dwarf agreed. "Kill the brat now while it's young and defenseless."

"And that Lord Kili's day is coming, too," the man continued. "Orcs swear the poison already burns in that one's blood…add a little something the hidden ones are cooking up and he'll be finished…then we have us two less Sons of Durin to worry about."

Fjalar gripped his knife tighter. He was shivering. He heard the threat, but didn't really understand it. What did they mean? No one could get his uncle. He glared in the direction of the voices.

Someone stomped around in the snow. "You sure about what you have here?"

"By my beard. King's mark on his cloak and everything," the dwarf growled. "Drag him out and see for yourself. Do it, and then I'll kill him for ye."

"Stop it, you fools." A different man with a deeper voice stepped close to the box. "There's a bigger prize in this. Bait the king. Draw him out of that mountain and then get them both. He sits too tight inside Erebor. Get him far enough away from it and he's ours."

Scoffing laughter. "Ooooo. Better plan. That would work!"

"So stop stalling then! Haul this brat off to the meet-up spot," the deep voice ordered. "Get on that skid. Off with you!" The snow-skid jolted and jerked forward, sliding sideways a bit before the draft animals picked up speed.

His gut full of dread, Fjalar finally understood why he was still alive. They _wanted_ his dad to come after him, and when he did, there would be an ambush.

Fjalar sank to the bottom of the box, knees tight against his chest.

And it was all his fault.

**break**

**break**

Nÿr had cried herself to exhaustion and slept through the routing of Yngvli's daughter, completely missing the excitement. She woke near midnight, rubbed her face, and cursed herself for such pathetic behavior.

_All right, you've had your cry,_ she told herself. _Enough of that._

She stood, looking around the little hideaway one last time.

Her eyes lingered on the plush rug in front of the cold ashes.

All too easily she could recall spending the night there with her beloved, stretching herself along his powerfully muscled body, finding what made him gasp in pleasure…thrilling at his touch on her skin and his hunger for love.

But she forced herself to look away and closed herself off from those thoughts.

No more. The best thing, she decided, for Kili and the rest of his family, was for her to leave.

It had been a nice fantasy, thinking she was worthy of a marriage contract with a Prince.

But she wasn't. No one inside Erebor thought so either.

Kili was better off without her.

She left, locked the door behind her, and made her way through empty halls to the trainee dorm.

Her dorm mates were thankfully asleep.

It didn't take long for her to roll up a couple of blankets, pack her few things, and change into her travel gear: trousers, boots, and a heavy coat.

And then she shouldered her pack and healer's satchel, and simply walked out. She made for the western terrace, knowing the trail down the mountain would point her west. Vaguely, she had decided to make her way back to Ered Luin, a place she knew well, having recently spent five years there as a healer trainee.

At the same time, there were many places in between for a reasonably competent itinerant healer. She'd met a ranging group of Dunedain, once. Their settlements moved around, but it was possible that a good healer and a fair midwife could find a place among them.

There was a small voice in the back of her mind that wondered if this was really the right course of action, but she hushed it. What she heard louder was the echo of those angry lads in the dining hall: _stay away from real dwarves._

**break**

**break**

_**Author's note: I have to admit, it's more challenging than I would have thought to write the bros acting against female antagonists (in both the previous chapter and this one), and I've been trying to hit appropriate dwarven cultural actions rather than human ones. If anyone's got concerns or thoughts to that (or any of this) post a review or message me. Always appreciate feedback of any kind.**_

_**Author's note on Khuzdul vocabulary: see Dwarrow-Scholar's Neo-Khuzdul Dictionary, findable online via Google. Abzaginh = bane lady, and my interp in English: poisonous bitch. In this case, literally, since she is admittedly guilty of attempted murder on the Grey Mountains King by use of Dismin's Poison. (See previous story, Durin's Day: 3022.) The Circle of Ahyrunu is roughly Circle of the Dishonest…it compels truth.**_


	7. Chapter 8

Eight

Kili strode uphill in the dark, Young Bard beside him with a small squad of Dale constables at his back, their boots crunching in the snow. For the moment, all was quiet in Dale.

"Next time you execute a criminal in someone's back hallway, give me a little warning," Bard said.

"You were busy."

"We have a gaol and a hanging tree."

"Can't hang a dwarf from a tree. Necks are too thick."

Kili saw Bard frown. The poor lad was getting a bit exasperated.

"Sword," Kili clarified. "Axe, or knife. Whichever one is handy. What you want is a good, sharp blade."

Bard snorted. "Duly noted."

"Point well taken, however," Kili relented. "My deepest apologies for the mess and the trouble." He meant it.

Bard sighed. "Justice. Never easy."

Kili looked away. He didn't like killing other dwarves. Orcs or goblins, sure. But another Dwarf, even a man, was a different thing. A lass, even worse.

"My mother used to preside over the court in the Blue Mountains when our uncle was away," he said. "She was a mama bear most of the time, and when it came to criminal matters, she was tougher than Thorin. She taught us to balance mercy with justice, but she also taught us not to waver."

"I'd say she taught you well."

"My brother gave Yngvli and his daughters a fair second chance, My Lord. All they had to do was go live their lives somewhere else."

Bard agreed.

"Since they're back, they've forced our hands," Kili went on. "If we don't follow through, we break trust with our own good people. They expect us to keep our word and enforce our laws."

They stopped at the top of the hill and faced each other in the moonlight. Bard nodded. "My father would have said the same thing," he conceded.

They regarded each other in silence. Bard's father was less than two years dead, killed in the siege of the great war right outside the gates of Erebor.

"We lost many good people in that last battle," Kili said. "Brand was a great King and he loved you well. He would be very proud of the job you're doing here."

Bard's eyes lit. "You think so?"

Kili smiled, put his hand over his heart and tilted his head in a quick bow. "I do." The lad was young and not really so hard to read.

"I still have much to learn, obviously," Bard looked out over his town, lit by oil lamps reflecting softly off the snow. "But you nailed it when you said the riots were a diversion for something else. What I don't understand is why. Why riots in Dale to cover up a plot in Erebor?"

"You're asking exactly the right question," Kili said. "But I think we're still missing a few pieces to the answer. Duf the Ravenspeaker, for one."

Young Bard stared at the older Dwarf, his frown telling Kili that the man was trying to add up the facts. "They silence a Ravenspeaker here," Bard said slowly, "And draw Erebor's guard commander out of the mountain so their plan to kidnap a prince has a better chance. But…" his voice trailed off.

"No Ravenspeaker in Dale means you can't get timely warning of something that we might know but you wouldn't."

"You mean an attack?"

Kili nodded. "Exactly."

"Son of a…" Bard looked up at the clear sky and the bright moon. "What a perfect night for goblins this is."

"And ravens don't fly in the dark."

"Any idea what their target is?"

"Not sure. But I think I know who does."

Bard turned to the squad of constables at his back and sent two of them off to quietly raise the Dale militia and muster at the ready.

Then he turned his tired, stern face back to Kili and offered a bow of his own. "Lead on, Lord Prince."

Kili and Bard met up with Bofur, the hill brothers, and Skirfir in a dark corner of the market square. The bell tower was just ringing three bells: third after sunset, Dale time. Not that far from midnight. Most people were inside their homes by now, hunkered down for bed.

"Yngvli spent most of the day drinking," Skirfir reported. "And I tracked him from the pubs to a traveler's wagon they've got tucked away on a side street. You can see it from here," he pointed to what looked like a wooden hut on wheels, of the sort used by northern men and some dwarves. There were several such wagons around Dale at the moment, traders staying put because of the heavy snow.

"Good lad," Kili slapped the young archer on the back. "Time to pay him a visit and ask some questions." He looked at Bofur. "You have the redbane?"

Bofur patted the chest pocket on his coat. "Picked it up from a guy I know at Ruby's."

Kili nodded to the hill brothers. "You lads take the lead." He put a hand on Skirfir's shoulder, "Stay back with your bow—if he tries to run, aim for his legs. We need to talk to him."

Skirfir nodded. Bard relayed the same instructions to the back up squad of constables.

"But this is Erebor's justice," he told them. "Let them take the lead."

None of them questioned the order. They would expect the reverse courtesy if they tracked a Dale man into the mountain.

Routing Yngvli from the traveler's wagon was nearly child's play. The coward squealed and pled innocence to Bard when Kili dragged him out by his collar.

But when he noticed the Dale King's unyielding expression and the drawn bow of the archer not ten feet away, a knocked arrow poised and ready, he sank to his knees, quivering.

"Search the rest of the wagon," Kili ordered. The hill brothers did so.

"My Lord!" they called out. "It's Duf."

"Alive?"

Bofur scrambled into the wagon to assist. "Barely," he called back. "I think the lad's been drugged or something."

Kili held his long knife to Yngvli's throat. "What have you been giving him?"

Yngvli, of course, evaded direct questions for a good five minutes. He dissembled almost as well as Bofur in similar circumstance, but Kili had no patience for it.

"Bofur?" he called.

The old miner knew what his friend and prince wanted. He popped up beside Kili and pulled out a medicinal flask from his pocket. It contained a bittersweet liqueur made from redbane.

The hill brothers were all too willing to hold the groveling merchant and pour a good measure down his throat.

Bard looked concerned when his eyes met Kili's.

"It won't hurt him. Just loosens the tongue."

"Aye," Bofur confirmed, looking at Bard. "We don't allow it in the Mountain, but you've got one or two Dale men who brew the stuff. Never heard that it works on men." He winked. "But it'll sure grease your wheels with a dwarf. And a fair bit more pleasant than whatever he's been dosing poor Duf with."

"Dismin's," Yngvli blurted. Then he blinked, as if completely surprised to have said that.

Kili raised his eyebrows and looked at Bard, who shrugged. After all, the questions didn't need to hold up in court. Yngvli was already a dead man for violating Erebor's decree of banishment.

It didn't take much to get everything he knew out of Yngvli. The Slagheads had stirred up the goblins and instigated an attack on Erebor as a way to draw Fili out of the mountain and take their revenge on him for the execution of their shadow leader, Aurvang.

And kidnapping one of Fili's children was the bait that would get him out.

Routing Dale would be the goblins' reward for handing Erebor over to the Slagheads.

"That has to be the most piss-poor plan I've heard in a long time," Bard swore, looking at Yngvli like he was flat out insane to have signed up for any part of it.

Kili didn't dismiss it so quickly.

"By this time," Yngvli said with pride in his voice, "Sissa's already packed one of those brats off to the goblins. They'll show him off to your ravens at sunrise, and your high and mighty brother won't be able to resist. All you can do from here is watch him storm out of that mountain right into a blood bath." Yngvli laughed.

Kili grabbed the dwarf by the neck to bring him forward and kneed him sharp in the gut. He let him fall to the ground, gasping for air.

Yngvli slowly struggled back to his feet, panting and wiping blood from his lip. "You all deserve it," Yngvli spat. "You're part and parcel with Gondor. Handing us all over to that upstart vagabond ranger."

"That King will bring us peace," Kili growled, a steady fury building in his gut. "When you would bring us constant death and war."

Yngvli made the mistake of trying to bolt, then, only to be tripped by Kili and fall flat on his face.

No one made a move to defend him when Erebor's Prince pulled the traitor's head back by the hair and stabbed his knife into the merchant's neck, ripping his throat apart with the blade.

The violence of it even shocked Bofur, who'd known the Prince for many years.

But the vermin was talking about a trap laid for Erebor's King.

And Kili was not always rational when it came to protecting his brother.

"My Lord," King Bard said quietly, after everyone was certain the merchant's heart had beat for the last time. "May I offer you the service of transport on my fastest horse?"

"That," Kili replied, still glowering at the body on the ground. "Would be greatly appreciated."


	8. Chapter 9

Nine

Nÿr simply walked out of Erebor, alone and with few belongings. It had been an easy task for someone familiar with the shortcuts and back corridors of Erebor to stop for food supplies and then leave through the least used and least watched rag end of the western terrace.

She walked alone down the snowy switchback path in the dark, not really paying attention to the bright stars overhead or the nearly full moon.

Her thoughts still circled around doors slamming in her face, trainees blocking her path, and the door staff at the royal quarters acting like she was a criminal who needed six guards. They wouldn't even have let her in had she not used Lady An's password.

And then Lady An herself asking whether the rumors were true.

_Yes, my lady. True. I once loved a Dale man, lived with him, slept in his bed, let him take my maiden's gift and then allowed him to batter me senseless and toss me aside when people turned against us._

But she couldn't have said it. Couldn't bear to see the disapproval, the judgment, the _it was your own fault, what were you thinking_ verdict…all things she still feared like nightmares, even though the actual events were years past.

So she was done, leaving, closing the book. Finished.

But Nÿr slowed when she came to the open entry of an old guard house carved into the rock of the mountain itself.

It was so unobtrusive and half-hidden that she wondered how they'd ever found it in the middle of a raging blizzard, freezing cold, barely able to stay upright in gusty winds.

Kili had found it, such that it was.

She stopped and went to the open door, just to take a look.

Someone had swept it out and cleaned. There was no remnant of the fire they'd made. A stack of fresh wood and metal boxes of survival supplies were stacked against one wall.

In case there was a next time for someone else, she realized. She turned a circle in the smaller, back room where they'd huddled in the cold.

They'd tried to sleep, sitting back to back, right here…

_She woke with a start as the guard commander (the prince, no less) leaned forward and stirred the little fire. It flared to life. _

_"Hey," he nudged her. "You're too cold if you're shivering. Come on," he said, opening his arms to her and tucking her against his chest, wrapping himself around her to stave off the cold._

_Speechless and a bit shocked (it was the prince!), she accepted his kindness as a simple survival practice. But after a few minutes she felt herself relaxing into his presence, buoyed as much by his spirit as by his welcome warmth. _

He'd been irresistible, actually. He'd had her chatting in no time, telling her about a past affair with an elf (what a shocking bit of news that was) and then somehow getting her to tell him (the prince!) all about the stupid Dale man. Right here in this little room. But she'd said it all right up front. She'd tried to convince him that she was unacceptable friend material.

_"When ladies try to match me with their sons and cousins, I just want to hide. If they knew, they would surely disapprove."_

_Kili had smiled. "I don't disapprove."_

_And he'd leaned close and pressed his lips to hers…just a simple, soft, gentle kiss._

_"Could this not be good?" he asked, his voice husky, barely above a whisper. _

Nÿr turned around, dashing the memory from her mind. Of course it was good. It had been fabulous. But she was not going to stand here re-living it. She took herself outside and picked up the trail again, finding easy walking by following someone else's tracks.

Kili was idealistic. He was a Prince. People could disapprove of him all they wanted, but she could bet no one would slam doors in his face or bully him in the dining hall.

She walked to bottom of the switchbacks and followed the trail west across a slope and into the pines.

Eventually, the memories crept back.

_"Could this not be good?" _

_She'd been unable to stop herself. She'd kissed him back and that had been like opening a flood gate. Kisses led to hands on each other's faces and shoulders, which led to mouths on throats and shrugging out of coats…she recalled the feel of his shoulders under her hands, broad, strong, so unbelievably well-muscled…unbuttoning his shirt, pressing her mouth to his collarbone and going all dizzy just from his scent. His hands were calloused and strong, but they brushed across her bared skin so lightly, almost reverently. And that look in his eyes that wasn't about lust. It was open and vulnerable. She could see such loneliness in his soul and she understood that he just needed so badly for her to want him and love him..._

_There had been no question about doing so…awkward and clumsy (since they were new to each other) but certainly welcome and with so much passion. The biggest shock of all: it was important to him that she was enjoying herself, and she understood that he would have stopped the moment she wasn't. In her (somewhat limited) experience, that was a first and it was incredibly enlightening. The rest of it was energetic and mutual, and so, so right. She'd fallen asleep against him feeling something that she couldn't put exact words to. Complete, unconditional acceptance, silent admiration, and…maybe love was the only word._

Nÿr stopped walking. She blinked, looked back at the trail behind her, and reoriented herself. She could see the snowy peak of the mountain now, reflecting silver in the moonlight. How far had she just walked, totally lost in her own thoughts?

**break**

**break**

Kili took a moment to wash up, courtesy of Young Bard's stablehands. There were three long-legged messenger horses with light saddles, all twice as tall at the shoulder than any dwarf. The Dale lads who mounted them were small and thin for men, lightly armed.

"Stay here with the hill lads and Duf," he told his old friend Bofur. The King had seen Duf taken to his own healers for care. "Do not," he lowered his head and looked Bofur in the eye. "Leave him. No wandering off, Bofur."

Bofur raised his eyebrows and nodded fervently. A side benefit to his un-princely show of temper, Kili realized, was that Bofur would be on his best behavior.

"I'll take Skirfir with me. If Dale is overrun…" he paused. "Do your best."

Bofur nodded. "Be careful," he said in genuine seriousness, reaching out to put a hand on Kili's shoulder. "Stay alive."

Young Bard knew better than to lift Kili up to the tall horse's back. "You dwarves are far heavier than you look," he said, scooting a mounting block into position. "But I'll give you a boost." The rider held down a hand and Kili climbed, grabbed the rider's hand, then found himself perched on a pillion pad with high set stirrups, the lightweight man-sized tackle having been replaced with dwarf-ready gear. It wasn't his preferred method of travel, but he wasn't about to argue with fast.

The rider gave quick tips for a riding position that would help the horse, and then Kili checked his weapons, securing his sword, bow, and quiver. A "ready to ride" call went up, and then the three long-legged steeds, with Kili and Skirfir along, were away, with Young Bard calling for good luck in their wake.

The horses ran like the wind, Kili could give them that. They were outside the city gates and riding hell for leather in no time. He kept his head down, crouching behind the rider so the wind rolled over them. He glanced at Skirfir doing the same on the back of the horse beside them, the lad's bow tight across his back.

In the time it usually took just to depart the city gate on a pony, the horses had them all the way down the hill and on the open road toward Erebor's gates.

Another ten minutes and they reached the two-mile house, a guard outpost generally used by Dale and Erebor together. They stopped, the horses walking tight circles to stay moving, so fit that they were hardly winded. Kili exchanged quick words with the two-mile guards: reinforcements were marching down from Dale even now. Prepare for action. Skirfir and his rider would divert and take the road to the western outpost, a similar small fort used by the combined guard. Yngvli's information told them that the goblin raiders would be sneaking in across the western slope…and they meant for that outpost to be the first to fall.

But not if Kili could help it. He regretted sending his cadet alone on such a dangerous run, but this is what the lad had trained for. He was young, quick, and a deadly shot. He had skill on his side.

"Ride hard," he told them. "Shoot straight, and let's hope you get there first."

Skirfir's salute had been immediate and sure. And then they were gone. A loyal lad, a willing heart.

Still, Kili knew, that was no guarantee of his survival.

And then the two remaining messenger horses took off with Kili astride, racing for Erebor.

Kili held tight. He wanted to reach the mountain in time, wanted to know if they'd cornered the traitor in their midst, and more than anything else, wanted desperately to keep his brother from running headlong into a trap.

**break**

**break**

Fjalar was long past sitting quiet inside a packing crate and feeling sorry for himself. He was looking for a way out. The snow-skid hadn't stopped for hours, and with every length it traveled away from the mountain, he was getting more desperate.

Right now he was trying to see if he could break through the box. He'd braced himself and pushed both feet against one side while pressing his back as hard as he could against the opposite.

He had no idea what he'd do if he broke through, besides run, but that wasn't stopping him.

He held his breath, clenched his teeth, and pushed again, trying with all his might to make some headway. He heard the wood creak, felt it bend beneath his back, but it held tight.

He let his breath out and his head fell back in despair. It could be wrapped in iron strapping, for all he knew.

He looked up, able to see moonlight through the knothole in the top. He got his knees under him and raised his eye to it. Moon, stars, pine trees. He could hear the men and the foreign dwarf, laughing to each other. Two were on the snow-skid, he thought. The other on a horse or pony alongside.

They were telling each other stories…about women, he realized. Crude and really…he wasn't even sure he believed his ears. No one in his experience spoke that way about other people. One particularly descriptive bit of bragging left him wrinkling his nose in genuine disgust. That was…ick! Why would anybody ever…?

He pressed his eye to the knothole again, trying to ignore the banter. There, dark against the starry sky. The form of a raven?

Or a bat.

He watched more closely.

There it was again. Definitely raven.

_They fly solo during the day,_ he recalled his uncle telling him. _But they roost in big flocks at night. Unless the moon's out, they don't have much night vision. Not like owls. _

Fjalar's eye went to the glimpse of nearly full moon to the right. The moon _was_ out. Could the ravens see them travelling on the snowy road beneath their roosting trees? Would they hear him?

He waited for the men to howl in laughter, then put his mouth to the knothole and called softly, barely above a whisper.

"Corax!" He wanted to raise his arm in invitation, but could only poke his finger out the top and wiggle it.

"Gah!" he swore, frustrated. He smacked his knee with his fist.

"Corax!" he hissed, trying again. "It's me! King but Not King! I need your help!"

But he heard nothing in reply. No raven dropped from its roost or even rattled a quiet call in curiosity. Besides, there was no guarantee that Corax was even one of the birds roosting with that flock.

Fjalar wanted to pound the wood in anger but stopped himself, unwilling to give himself away. Instead, he leaned his head against his arms and let his breath out, defeated. How long til sunrise? And even then, how would a raven even find him, stuck inside this stupid box?


	9. Chapter 10

Ten

Fili, Son of Durin, King Under the Mountain, wore his mithril mail under his leathers and his twin blades in full view, sheathed and ready for battle. Five hundred armed dwarves stood in formation just inside the gate, ready to follow their King.

But the proceedings had been stopped by the one old dwarf who dared contradict his King.

"Fili. This is a risk you can not take. Some would call it unwise." Old Dwalin stood nose to nose with the King, drawing his aged body to full height.

"What of it."

"You cannot go, laddie. Not even for your own kin."

Fili could easily overpower the old dwarf. No doubt. But he had learned to fight under Dwalin's efforts…knocking his old teacher aside would be tantamount to striking Thorin Oakenshield.

"Ye canna go, laddie!"

Fili glared. "I can not go _alone_. But I will go, and I will take a battalion with me."

Dwalin stood firm, shaking his head one time.

"Stand aside, Dwalin," Fili commanded. "I cannot let them kill my son."

"No, lad." Dwalin folded his arms and glowered. "You cannot let them kill _you_."

Those close enough saw Fili's eyes narrow and his fingers flex.

But at that moment, shouts from the gate rang out.

"Riders! Incoming! Horses from Dale!" Two tall messenger horses, running full out, streaked past the main gate in a clatter of hoofbeats, speeding all the way into the great hall, slowing only as they approached the King.

Old Dwalin moved to his King's side, taking a defensive stance.

To Fili's surprise, the rider on the first horse slowed to a trot, then a walk, and came right to him, handing down the leather clad form of his own brother.

"Fili!" And there was the dark haired form of Kili, heading for them and throwing his arms around his brother in a tight embrace. "Thank Mahal, you're still here."

"No, you'll thank _me_ for that," Dwalin grumbled. "Tell him he canna go!" Dwalin demanded.

"You cannot go," Kili said, standing back.

Fill drew breath as if to argue.

"Until you hear my news." Kili was panting from what Fili realized had been a full-out ride up the road from Dale.

"And then we will go together," his brother said, motioning for stewards to help the Dale riders and tend to the horses.

**break**

**break**

"Ah, Mahal," Nÿr said aloud, looking at the mountain peak reflected in the moonlight and realizing how far she'd walked. The little road had dwindled to nothing but someone's tracks through the woods.

"What am I doing?" There was no answer in the freezing cold, silent pre-dawn morning.

_You're walking away from the only one you've ever really loved since old Bari took you in._

She closed her eyes. Her heart felt hollow. Her old teacher Bari was many years dead, and yes, she admitted to herself, it was Kili's warmth she wanted, and here she was standing out in the cold like a silly child. And what was she thinking, heading for the Blue Mountains in the thick of winter?

She tried to pinpoint where she was. She'd been blindly following the tracks of some other travelers with no idea of their destination. Hunters, maybe, just heading into the woods. The likelihood of this trail leading into a copse and running up a tree somewhere was pretty good, she reflected, kicking herself.

Somewhere to her right she could hear water. She turned slowly and trudged for it. The Running Stream came through here, a wide, shallow thing full of round stones. It was a favorite destination of trainees in the summer, good for wading and open-air bathing—at least for those forward-thinking enough to try that. Some of the older dwarves objected, calling it elvish behavior.

Nÿr thought it wonderfully pleasant.

She reached the snowy bank, boots crunching on ice. She unhooked the metal traveler's cup from her pack and knelt to reach past the icy edge and scoop a drink of water.

It was sharply cold and refreshingly pure.

And the sound of the gently running stream soothed her just as the icy air stilled the fire-storm that had been raging through her thoughts. It was a little bit like waking up after a fever, she realized.

And that reminder was the final kick in the pants. Her connection to Kili went beyond the mutually enjoyable romance. She knew his secret—the one that had prompted his royal brother to demand her silence on the matter, which she had sworn to honor.

Kili bore the curse of a Morgul wound, his blood tainted with it, dooming him to re-live the pain and fever of his injury every year on Durin's Day for the rest of his life.

That was not the kind of thing most people could understand.

It was why he was so alone.

She hooked her cup back in place, then stripped off one glove, patting her pockets.

There. She slid out a small, black piece of dragonstone carved into the shape of a raven. A gift from Kili. She looked at it, weighed it in her hand, then slowly raised it to her lips and gently kissed it. "Mahal, hold that kiss for me," she said to it, closing her hand around it. That kiss was for her beloved, and she meant now to give it to him herself.

She looked back up at the mountain, just starting to glow with the light of first dawn behind it.

She rested her forehead against her hand. Figures she would be so hard-headed as to get this far down the mountain before she realized that what she really wanted was to climb right back up.

She rose and returned to the tracks she'd been following, then headed back the way she'd come. Let people slam doors in her face. She was not going to let that drive her away from what she truly wanted.

And what I want, she told herself. Is a thousand times stronger than what they want.


	10. Chapter 11

Eleven

"They took Fjalar," Fili told his brother, his voice breaking. "They've got my son."

"Then we'll go get him back," Kili glowered, his strong arms came hard around him again and they touched foreheads.

Mahal, he loved his brother, Fili thought, closing his eyes a moment. Kili understood, just as he always did.

"We can do anything if we do it together," Kili murmured.

Fili took a deep breath, feeling more centered and hopeful than he had in hours. He nodded, and they stepped back, in complete accord with each other.

Kili quickly detailed what he had gotten out of Yngvli.

"What did you do with the bastard?" Dwalin demanded.

"Dead. The older daughter, too." Kili said. "What about Sissa, the younger one?"

"I threw her into the Circle of _Ahyrunu_, not more than an hour ago," Fili said. "She helped them grab my son," he growled. "They used ether on him and packed him in a shipping crate."

"They also have several stoneweight of gold they're smuggling out," Dwalin added. "Both crates were loaded on a snow skid and left by way of the western terrace, headed into the woods."

"They took him alive with intent to get you out of the Mountain," Kili stated. "They won't harm him as long as they think their plan is working. And that extra gold—it'll slow them down," Kili said. "Must be payoff for someone. Goblins or smugglers. Did she say?"

Fili looked his brother in the eye. "Didn't give her the chance."

Fili didn't need to spell this out. Kili knew that the Circle of _Ahyrunu_ exacted its own punishment against traitors. Mithril fire sparked hotter than a forge—flared, burned, and left the condemned as nothing more than a pile of dust. Fili conceded that he might have helped that process along a little bit. The circle didn't operate entirely on its own, after all.

Kili just nodded once in silent approval.

Fili called the battalion leaders to join them. Together with old Dwalin, they huddled to hear the rest of Kili's news. Someone produced a map and assistants to hold it up.

"I sent archer cadet Skirfir to the Western Outpost," Kili pointed. "With any luck, he's there by now, having this same conversation with the outpost captain."

No one had to mention that _without _luck, Skirfir was already ambushed and dead, or he could have arrived too late and found the outpost already overrun.

"Young Bard is sending three companies of his militia into the field, half of them mounted," Kili went on, pointing out the paths they planned to take. "If we depart by the western terrace and split our forces, we can send half north into the woods, half straight across the western flank, and then Dale and Erebor rout the goblins this direction," he swept his hand across the map. "Right into the hands of the northern company."

"Any idea how many goblins they've stirred up?" Fili asked.

"Yngvli said the Slagheads bargained with the _Kolozh_," he named a goblin faction from the southern Grey Mountains. "We think there are about 600 of them, not well coordinated. They will all want the spoils for themselves and it would be unusual for them to involve any other group."

"If they get their hands on that gold," Fili said to the captains, "let them have it. They'll start fighting each other and make your jobs easier."

The captains agreed.

"We know the _Kolozh_ well enough," one of the battalion leaders said, a grim smile on his face. "And it's high time we had a good go at them."

"This was your plan?" Dwalin asked, looking at Kili.

"Young Bard and I worked it out, yes," Kili answered.

"Good job. There's hope for you yet," Dwalin deadpanned.

Fili saw his brother raise an eyebrow in amusement. The words were a long standing jest of Dwalin's, dating back to Kili's earliest training days.

"As soon as the sun rises and the ravens are out," Fili said. "I want word from the outpost. If Skirfir made it and if they aren't already under siege, I want their people scouring the woods for Fjalar. Stay with the Queen, Dwalin," Fili ordered. "She'll need a ravenspeaker. You can help direct our actions."

It was an honorable post for the old warrior, too frail now for real fighting, but he saw Dwalin's frown and wondered if he would object.

"If none of us come back," Fili said more plainly. "You must be regent for Gunnar, and Gunnar must become King Under the Mountain." Fili locked eyes with his old friend and teacher. That had to be the way of it. Gunnar was still a child by dwarf standards, a full seven years younger than Fjalar. But he was next in line if both Fili and Fjalar perished.

And without Kili, Dwalin was the next closest adult kin in the line of Durin.

"The Queen will need you," Fili said.

Dwalin looked as though he might return to his earlier set of objections, but finally nodded. "She has my service, my Lord." He bowed his head. "As do you and your sons."

With that, the battalion leaders went into action, with squads of Erebor warriors preparing to march.

Fili found himself surrounded by a dozen of the King's Guard, and turned to quickly brief them on the plan. He and Kili would be leaving the western terrace first, tracking the snow skid. The Guard would need to travel light and fast along with them. The battalions would follow close behind.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw his brother accept a water skin from the Queen. There was a quick exchange of words between them, and by the time he had the King's Guard ready to move, Kili was back beside him, his expression showing nothing but his focus on the fight ahead.

But Fili knew both his brother and his Lady wife. Kili had surely asked about his intended, and the Queen would have told him the truth.

That rumors from Dale had driven Nÿr the Healer into hiding, and that the master physician reported a written resignation on his desk. A check of the trainee dorm had proved that her things had been cleared out, her indoor shoes found next to her bed, and her traveling boots gone.

**break**

**break**

Fjalar felt the motion of the snow-skid slow and then halt.

"We stop here," the foreign dwarf called out. "Rest and feed the ponies." There were thumps and footsteps.

"Build a fire," one of the men said. "We could use some hot food."

Fjalar's stomach growled. He could use some hot food, too. But somehow he wasn't sure he'd be included in their breakfast party.

He put his eye to the side knothole, trying to see. The sun was just starting to rise and there was enough light to see a clearing. He didn't see any ravens yet, but it was just a matter of time before the woods were alive with birds of all kinds.

Maybe it was time to stop pretending he was still knocked out, he thought. He had no chance of attracting a raven cooped up in this box.

And he wouldn't get out of the box unless he started making noise.


	11. Chapter 12

****Guess what? Dwarves can snowboard! :D ****

****If you're new to this story, welcome! I know it can be awkward to drop into a fic mid- or post-story, but feel free to leave a comment just on the chapter or PM me, doesn't have to be a long or detailed note. Huge thanks to everyone who's liked, followed, reviewed, and been reading! Means a lot. –Summer ****

Twelve

Fili, Son of Durin, King Under the Mountain, stood on the western terrace of Erebor with his brother, a dozen King's Guard, and a battalion of warriors.

The sun was rising behind them, casting a pale early morning light across the downward sweep of the broad, wooded western slope of the Lonely Mountain.

The skies were clear, the air cold and still, and it was a beautiful view from their vantage.

But the woods below were hiding an incursion of _Kolozh_ goblins and Slaghead dwarves from the southern Grey Mountains.

And somewhere out there was a young and frightened hostage prince.

Fili looked at the sky, raising his arm.

Tentative, sleepy _quorks_ echoed around them. It was early for ravens, but that didn't keep the King from calling one.

A young hen skirted the rocky mountainside, landed on a rock, and considered.

And then flew to the King's arm, ducking shyly.

What he told her made her raise her head and stretch, as if startled. She paused, but the King nodded to her.

"Ready?" he asked. "I'll give you a boost." With that, he lowered his arm, the little hen crouched, preparing to spring, and then he launched her high into the air and she arrowed away.

The King turned to his brother. "Time to go!"

And with that, they stomped their boots into the fittings of short, narrow skid boards and tipped themselves downhill, leading the way on a long, speedy run down the snowy mountainside.

Skid-boarding came naturally to dwarves. With their low center of gravity, they maneuvered easily, their trails weaving tracks like long braids down the mountainside.

Fili caught air coming over a rock, crouched, and landed without losing speed. Behind him, Kili reacted to a downed log in his path by doing a quick boardslide, catching a bit of air, and landing neatly back on track.

But this downhill race was not about tricks, it was about speed and stealth, and they reached the base of the slope in minutes. They would have been whooping with the exhilaration of it had the situation been less dire. As it was, they simply raised their hands to each other and smacked palms before releasing the boards, making a quick check of their weapons, and taking off to pick up the trail left by a lone snow skid and a small group of kidnappers.

**break**

**break**

"Let me out _now_!" Fjalar yelled, kicking the inside of his little prison as hard as he could. He'd been packed inside this too-small crate all night, and he'd had enough.

His efforts were met with laughter.

"Our little golden boy is alive and kicking," one of the men snarled. "Guess you didn't kill him with that knock-out juice after all."

The foreign dwarf picked up a pine cone and threw it at Fjalar's crate. It smacked the box, reverberating loudly. "Stop the noise, or we'll give you a real reason to howl!"

Fjalar didn't care. He switched to throwing his weight against the side, hoping he could rock the box off the snow-skid. It was awkward—he couldn't quite move enough to get any momentum until he got on his feet and pushed his back to the lid, moving his center of weight higher as he surged against the right-hand wall.

There, maybe a little bit of movement.

"You can't keep me locked in here!" he yelled, saying whatever came to mind.

To his surprise, one of the burly men was close enough to hammer the box lid. "Shut the hell up," he pounded, then smacked the lid hard enough for Fjalar to feel it on his back. "Or I'll drag you out of there myself!" Then he lowered his voice. "And when I do you little bastard, I'll be cutting your damn throat on sight."

The nearness of him frightened Fjalar into crouching at the very bottom of the crate again, eyes wide. He'd never actually heard anybody threaten him like that before.

_All right_, he told himself. _Making noise-not such a great plan._

He heard the man's boots crunching away in the snow. _What now?_

After a moment he tentatively rose to put his eye to the side knothole. The two men and the dwarf crouched by a campfire, the smoke thin and nearly invisible in the early morning light. They had broadswords. Knives. No bows that he could see.

He looked around the inside of the box, lit enough now that he could see that a plain, wooden cube of a shipping crate was all it was. Two knotholes…nothing else. Not even the tip of a protruding nail.

He slouched. Once again he felt that overwhelming desire for his father…he wanted his Da to show up and get him out of here. Wanted to run to him, say how sorry he was, feel his father's strong arms around him… He wanted to bury his head against him and hear his deep, husky voice soothing him. _There, lad. You're all right._

Fjalar closed his eyes. _No. Can't. Don't wish for that._ There was the whole point of his predicament. Those men _wanted_ his father to come here.

Because they wanted to kill him.

Fjalar wrapped his arms around himself, trying not to shiver.

That's when he heard a light thump followed by the scritch-scratch of something on the crate top.

Cautious, he peered up at the knothole on the roof.

A small, black beady eye was looking in at him, the head of a young raven cocking this way and that, his sharp beak testing the knothole.

"Corax!" Fjalar whispered, getting up on his knees and poking the tip of his finger up to touch the bird's curious beak. "Corax! You wonderful, smart, beautiful bird!"

"King but not King?" Corax muttered. "Trapped in a box?"

"Yes!" Fjalar spoke, as hushed as he could. "I need help, Corax. Can you get me help? But not the King! Fly to the king…tell him not to leave the mountain. Tell him it's a trap! It's a trap, Corax!"

But then there were shouts from the men. Someone threw another pine cone and it smacked the box near Fjalar's ear and he flinched.

Corax vanished.

Fjalar stared at the knothole. Did Corax understand the message?

Or was he just frightened off?

**break**

**break**

Nÿr had backtracked nearly a mile before the ravens started circling her. At first it was only two, then a half dozen. Before long, there was an entire flock leap-frogging along in the trees beside the trail.

"Go away!" she told them. "I get it…I'm going home. Just…let me keep going." She really didn't want to talk to them. She was too far from the mountain to pass along any messages anyway.

Two different ravens came close and hovered, expecting her to raise her arm for them to land, but then flapped off in confusion when she did not. She didn't understand them—this was not normal raven behavior.

Finally, one cheeky bird swooped straight at her. Instinctively she ducked, felt the furious flapping of wings against her head, and tried to twist away, ending up on the ground.

"What in Mahal's Hammer…?"

A young raven was literally trouncing her with his feet, trying to get at her face. She raised her hand as a shield.

He pecked.

Hard.

"Ow," she sat up, take a swipe to fend him off. He was right back, and she finally raised her arm, mostly in self defense, to see if he'd just land and stop the harassment.

He leapt to her arm imperiously. "Hen-Hen listen!" He screeched so loud that her ears rang. "King but Not King is in box!" He repeated it, over and over.

They called her Hen-Hen. She remembered Kili's grin when he'd first heard this. "Never can tell what name they'll pick for you." He'd shrugged. "They have their own weird logic. They just know you're a lassie, I guess." He'd winked.

_Oh, Kili. _

Nÿr forced her brain to recall everyone's ravenspeaker names. Fili was just called _King_, Kili was _Raven Prince_. Dwalin was _Nut Head_. The challenge there, as Kili had told her, was not to laugh. "It's because he's bald and they don't have a word for that. They just think his head is smooth, like a nut."

_King but Not King_…?

Where had she heard that…?

In the study. The night before Kili left for Dale, lying against him in front of the fireplace, that languid spooning after making love...bare skin against each other, hands clasped loosely. The gentle pride of an uncle speaking quietly about his young nephew's ravenspeaking lessons…how she had wondered what it would be like someday to hear him talk about a son of theirs in that way, to see his joy and pride in a child of his own. It had been a dreamy, sated moment, a little fuzzy in her mind.

But he'd been talking about his nephew…

King but Not King.

Fjalar.

"Fjalar? In a box? Show me."

That seemed to do the trick. The ravens streaked away, back in the direction she'd just come. "This way! This way," they called.

"Are you kidding?" But she got to her feet, wiped the blood from the back of her hand, and followed. Something had really upset them.

She found the energy to run, ravens leading the way.

When they veered from the trail, she followed, slowing when she finally reached a thicket where they congregated in silence.

Again, this was not normal raven behavior.

She edged herself into the thicket, quietly trying to see what they were looking at.

There, in a clearing, a couple men and a dwarf with a loaded snow skid and two ponies. Some kind of small caravan, stopped for food…or maybe waiting for someone else. They were sitting around a campfire, smoking. There was a cookpot and a kettle.

And ravens. They were congregating on one of the boxes on the skid. They pecked at it, jockeyed for position on top of it.

_King but Not King in a box_, she realized.

Suddenly feeling desperate to get the ravens to calm, she put up her arm to call one to her.

"Quiet," she said to it. "Tell everyone. Be tricky birds. Hush. Fly up into the trees and watch." The bird she had spoken to flew off. Moments later the group on the box scattered.

She considered the scene before her, sizing things up. Nÿr knew she was no match for the combined physical strength of two grown men and a dwarf…but as a healer, she knew their weaknesses better than they did. She had one chance, she decided. In her pack, she had a small flask of 80 proof ambershine…brought along to stave off cold. If she added a certain combination of powders from her healer's kit, she could drop them in their tracks.

At least for a while.

How to get them to drink it would be the challenge.


	12. Chapter 13

****Warning: Chapter includes battle violence. Rating: M****

Thirteen

Nÿr never got the chance to test her ambershine idea. Luck wasn't on her side.

It wasn't even on the side of the two smuggler men and the Slaghead dwarf in the clearing.

It was on the side of twenty-seven _Kolozh_ goblins, their sights set on a very particular shipping crate sitting relatively unguarded on a snow skid at the eastern end of the clearing.

"Gobliiiiinnnns!" The ravens in the thicket around Nÿr erupted in repeated screeching. They flapped against her, frantic.

Nÿr ducked, barely able to see through the feathery melee. By the campfire, the two men and the dwarf were on their feet, running for the skid.

_Fjalar!_ Nÿr fended off ravens and got to her feet, dashing through the underbrush. She couldn't help Fjalar from here. She needed to be closer.

At the far western end of the clearing, she could hear the goblins now, shouting war-hoots and rattling weapons. Fear spurred her forward. _What are they doing out in the daylight?_

Nÿr didn't stop to wonder. She ran headlong across a shallow creek, boots splashing, and scrambled up the icy bank opposite. They weren't out by choice, she realized. And it wasn't truly daylight yet; the rising sun had not yet topped the mountain. _They must have used the dark to cross the western slope. Now they want to get their prize and be gone._

She crashed her way through a growth of close-set brambles, and finally slowed, alert to a new noise. Above the clearing, the ravens were swirling and screeching in anger. She looked up in despair, wanting to tell them to stop, to go away.

_But no,_ she realized. _They are the best beacon for help. _If there were any Erebor warriors watching, they would see the flock in an uproar and come looking. She had to imagine that they knew Fjalar had been taken from the mountain. There must be someone looking for him.

If it was really true that he was in that crate, and if he was even still alive.

She walked more quietly through the underbrush now, circling around as close to the skid as she could get without revealing herself. The dwarf and the men were arguing.

"Protect the gold!" One man shouted, sword drawn.

"There are too many," the dwarf said, taking his axe to the box where the ravens had been congregating. "This lad is the real prize, you idiots. The king's son gets us all of Erebor!"

_No!_ Nÿr's eyes went wide and her heart pounded. _Fjalar!_

_Whack!_ The upper right corner of Fjalar's box shattered and splintered.

Nÿr flinched. She could only hope that the youngster was able to hunker low in the box. _Is he even conscious?_

Across the clearing, she heard the frightening, rising roar of a line of well-armed goblins charging toward them.

The two men started swearing, swinging their broadswords at the other box on the skid, smashing the lid away in three strokes.

_Whack!_ The dwarf attacked Fjalar's box again, breaking another piece away.

Nÿr watched as the two men became frantic, reaching into the other box with both hands, quickly grabbing and pocketing something as fast as they could.

_What the…?_ Nÿr squinted. Ingots.

Erebor gold.

The men helped themselves four or five times, filling every available pocket, then stuffing their coats.

_Idiots_, she thought. They were weighing themselves down.

The Slaghead dwarf wavered now, as if unable to decide between striking Fjalar's box again or joining the men. He looked from Fjalar's box to the gold, then back. Foolishly, he dropped his axe and reached for the gold, grabbing one ingot in each hand.

And that's when Fjalar kicked through the box and launched himself at the greedy dwarf, knocking the heavy Slaghead to his back and managing a healthy fist to the jaw.

_Alive and kicking!_ Nÿr caught her breath. _Good lad!_

The two men spared them barely a glance, grabbing several more ingots, then checking the oncoming horde. They grabbed one last ingot each, then turned tail and ran for the woods.

"Fjalar!" Nÿr yelled, motioning the lad her way. Ravens were descending, practically mobbing him. The lad turned and their eyes met. He scrambled to his feet, ready to run, but Nÿr saw him trip—the dwarf had hold of his foot.

"No you don't, laddie," the Slaghead said. "We've got a score to settle with your Da."

Nÿr started slipping her pack off of her shoulders.

Fjalar kicked, trying to shake off the older dwarf.

But the heavier Slaghead managed to pull the youngster closer, a wicked knife in his hand. He got hold of Fjalar's sun-gold hair and pulled the lad's head back, clearly going for the throat.

_**break**_

_**break**_

Kili, Prince of Erebor, had been running alongside his brother and the King's Guard for several miles. They were running steadily downhill, and they had momentum on their side.

"Ravens!" he heard Fili shout. They all slowed, looked up, and saw the sky dark with ravens mobbing and circling in the distance. About a half mile due west, Kili figured.

And then a flight of a half dozen speeding birds streaked by. "Gobliiiiiinnns!"

One practically crash landed on his brother's head. "King but not king in a box! Gobliiiiiinnns! Gobliiiiiinnns!"

"Fjalar!" Fili bolted ahead, taking off without concern for himself.

"Fili!" Kili swore, tearing after him, the King's Guard at their backs.

_**break**_

_**break**_

Nÿr slipped off her pack and broke out of the underbrush, charging the Slaghead dwarf. At the very least, she had surprised him. She bowled him over, knocking the knife from his hands and freeing Fjalar.

Just in time to see the first three misshapen grey goblins leap onto the skid and pounce on the gold.

Her world became a chaotic scramble as the entire horde swarmed around them, the air full of grunts, growling, and the sound of metal on metal.

Nÿr hit the dirt, rolled, and made it to Fjalar. She pulled him quickly beneath the narrow space under the skid, her arms around him, shielding the lad with her body.

Heavy goblin jackboots pounded inches from their faces, and the goblins discovered the Slaghead dwarf with gold in his pockets. They became frenzied and in moments they'd stripped him of his gold and left him disemboweled and dead, glassy eyes staring at the sky.

The stench was powerful, and Nÿr tried to wipe a face full of blood and tissue off on her shoulder.

And the blood inspired the goblins to turn on each other. She clenched her eyes shut, holding tight to Fjalar. She could feel him shivering. She could feel _herself_ shivering. _The gold will be gone in a moment,_ she realized. _And the ones left without will be dangerous._

She looked at Fjalar, his sun-gold hair a dead giveaway. She felt around and grabbed his hood, pulling it up. "Stay covered," she whispered to him. "Whatever happens, don't show them who you are, do you understand?"

She saw him nod. Fear grew in her gut. She hated the waiting of it…

But she was right. It didn't take long for the gold to be gone and for the last few goblins to rip apart the remainder of the boxes in fits of fury.

Then they overturned the skid.

Nÿr pulled Fjalar's head to her chest, covering the lad's face. "Don't even look," she said.

"No gold!" She cried when they saw them. "We have nothing!"

Three of the goblins immediately turned and took off after others.

One stayed behind, bending close.

"Feeeemale…" He reached for her, latching on to her collar and pulling her away. She let Fjalar go.

"Stay down," she said to him, desperate to give him a chance. Their eyes met, Fjalar's wide in alarm.

The goblin groped about, his crooked, clawed hands looking for proof of her gender by grasping at her breasts.

She turned enough to spit at him and kicked, glad of the steel toes on her travel boots.

But this only served to infuriate the goblin. He threw her to the ground so hard that it stunned her. Before she could think, she caught a glimpse of his upraised hand, a heavy club in it. She rolled, feeling the club thud on the ground next to her ear.

Then Fjalar had the goblin around the knee, a small knife in his hand. He sliced the goblin's calf, hamstringing him and breaking his knife. The goblin roared and wavered on its feet.

Stunned, Nÿr tried to rise, but couldn't.

Then she heard a clear sound. A solid thump into the goblin's back and it went down, face first.

This time it was Fjalar who threw himself across Nÿr to protect her.

But her senses were already righting themselves. "Arrows?," she said. "Whose arrows?"

"Western outpost," Fjalar said. "Black coats." Nÿr closed her eyes briefly in thanks. She got a good look over his shoulder, seeing one lad out of uniform.

"Skirfir!" she breathed. "That's Skirf! Make for the underbrush," she pointed Fjalar to the thicket where she'd left her pack. They crawled for it a few feet at a time, trying to stay below the fray and not attract attention.

She could hear the battle ramping up around them. A fresh contingent of goblins burst into the clearing from the west at the same time that Dale men on horseback entered from the south.

Then something grabbed her leg. She gasped, then turned and saw the hamstrung goblin, arrow protruding from his back.

Apparently, he wasn't done. He had crawled closer and with a grunt managed to launch himself onto her back, slathering her cheek, claws trying to tear into her trousers. She could feel what must pass for the rock hard maleness of a goblin grinding against her leg, and in sheer disgust, elbowed him in the face.

Fjalar looked both shocked and mightily confused.

But Nÿr was pinned. She tried to throw her weight, tried to roll, but couldn't.

"Knife!" she hissed at Fjalar, jerking her head toward the blade sheathed on the goblin's back.

"Aarrgh!" She roared, as the disgusting creature clawed through her jacket and reached the bare skin of her stomach. There, a foot away, lay a loose lance. If she could just get it…

She managed to duck and roll this time, taking the goblin, his arms tight around her, along for the ride. The arrow in his back snapped, but didn't seem to faze him.

She looked at Fjalar. He had the knife, but the lad didn't really know how to kill, she realized. Her hands pinned to her side, she couldn't reach for the lance, but she managed to make a slicing motion against the inside of her own thigh while the goblin was still trying to get into her shirt.

"Femoral artery," she sputtered. "Cut it!"

She kicked with her heavy boot, managing to force the goblin to raise his leg while he was still preoccupied with wanting her breasts. A fight, she admitted, that she would soon lose.

But Fjalar knew how to take direction. The lad stomped down on the goblin's left knee, and slashed right through the muscle and sinew of its inner thigh, right down to the bone.

The grey-green fluid that passed for goblin blood fountained everywhere for eight or nine of its heartbeats. Then it fell back, the spurts slowing and then still.

"Bastard!" Nÿr spit its blood from her mouth.

And looked up just in time to see a raised mace aimed right at Fjalar's head.

**break**

**break**

Fili no longer cared if he was running headlong into a trap. He could hear the battle ahead, and he welcomed it, his thoughts narrowing to the fight at hand, just as it always did when he fought in earnest. Twin blades in his hands, he roared with a fury that he couldn't have helped.

Beside him, his brother surged ahead, his longer sword hacking underbrush aside as they charged forward.

A clearing. Goblins. The remnants of a snow skid with debris.

He engaged a pair of goblins clutching ingots, their faces shocked as their heads flew.

And Fili, well experienced in the art of hand-to-hand fighting, opened himself to the flow and focus of the here and now that a real warrior achieved in battle. He was not a King…he was only an instrument of his training and his instinct: slashing, parrying, thrusting, and turning for more. He was aware without thinking when his brother sliced through a goblin at his back. He whirled and returned the favor when three of them ganged up on Kili. Two of them lost their heads from behind. The third felt Kili's sword in its gut.

Across the clearing, Dale horses entered the field, charging headlong into a fresh influx of goblins. The King's Guard surged around them, then, and their enemy began to turn tail and scatter. In the woods beyond, half the Erebor battalion lay in wait.

Fili's eyes searched the clearing.

There, not far from the broken skid, the half-hooded form of his son stood firm, a bloody knife in his hand, facing a snaggle-toothed goblin three times his size with a wicked mace on the swing.

Fili didn't have time to cry out in fear.

But he saw the lad duck, the swing miss, and the taller form of a young archer skidding between them as the mace came around.

It was the archer lad who took the hit meant for the prince, and it knocked him a good ten feet.

And someone else, a tall, slender figure with a long single braid, rose from the ground, thrusting a lance upward through the goblin's gut, straight into its ugly heart.

And then a charging goblin was coming right at him and Fili parried its blade to the right on instinct, swiftly splitting the ugly creature's head apart with his left.


	13. Chapter 14

Fourteen

Fjalar, firstborn son of Fili, King Under the Mountain, had heard all his short life that his father and uncle were fierce fighters. He knew that Erebor's warriors respected them for their skill. He'd watched them spar in the practice hall. He'd even seen his father nursing that wound in his side—the one he'd gotten in the last big battle outside the mountain two years back.

But he'd never seen them in a real fight, and he saw them now, blades ringing and chopping, swinging and whirling in varied rhythms as they chased their enemy, each stopping goblins that might have struck the other.

Fjalar couldn't open his eyes wide enough to take it all in. There was his father, twin blades striking in moves too fast to follow, and seven ugly goblins left dead in his wake.

And next to him, his uncle with his longer blade churning through the vile creatures, reducing them to body parts and grey-green blood.

And then it was over, the goblins retreating and his Uncle charging after them, leading a band of guard in a running pursuit.

But his father stopped and turned, looking wildly left and right before finding him—and Fjalar met his eyes, the knife still in his hand, his coat splattered in goblin blood.

He wanted to call out to his father—_Da!_ But he couldn't find his voice. He wanted to run to him…but fully expected to be smacked a good one for his irresponsible actions. He deserved it.

And then his father sheathed one of his swords and was coming towards him with his hand out, nothing but relief in his eyes.

**break**

**break**

Nÿr turned to Skirfir, stumbling to the young archer's side. The fight moved past them now. Kili had spared her a glance and moved on, routing goblins from the underbrush. Ravens followed, swooping and screeching. She could hear them calling out,"Two! Two! Two by the rock!"

Had he even recognized her? Did he realize the only reason she was here is that she'd been leaving? _It was nothing but a big mistake,_ she wanted to call after him. _I was already coming back!_

But no time for that. Neither one of them could afford anything but duty in the heat of battle. They could not take time for each other—not until all this was over.

Nÿr bent over Skirfir. The lad lay clenched in serious pain, struggling for air, the wind knocked completely out of him. That blow had likely cracked his ribs. Frantic, she looked at his mouth.

"Open up, Skirf," she said, her hands on his jaw. "Show me your tongue." What she dreaded was any sign of bright red blood from his airway, the telltale of a punctured lung and a fatal wound.

She couldn't be watching him die out here. She couldn't!

He closed his eyes as if unable to obey her command.

"Skirfir! Stay with me, lad. We can't lose you!"

After a damnably long moment, he moved his jaw and opened his mouth.

Gently, she angled it toward the rising sun. She saw nothing to alarm her. "Good, good," she tried to reassure him, taking a deep breath. "Easy, Skirf."

She loosened the strap on his empty quiver and the buckles on his coat, giving his chest room to move. She felt him struggling for shallow breaths. "In through your nose, out through your mouth," she coached. He tried it, grimaced in pain, but seemed to be getting more air each time. She took stock of his wounds—cuts, bleeding on his forehead. And something else was wrong. His shoulder, she saw. Wrong angle, but not dislocated. Collarbone, she thought.

"Hang on, Skirfir," she looked around, wondering if the Western Outpost's medics would be trailing their fighters, and if so, how long til they arrived?

Ten feet away, her King had scooped up his son in a fierce one-armed bear hug, one blood-stained blade still at the ready.

She was close enough to hear Fjalar's agonizing cry of, "Da!" and she could see the lad holding heart-breakingly tight to his father, face against his chest. As brave as he'd been, Fjalar was still a child, just now the age when he might start lessons with the youngest pages.

And he's just survived his first battle, she thought. He had certainly lived up to his bloodline. She didn't know how he'd ended up kidnapped and locked in that box, but she was glad to see her King holding the lad close, even if they were both blood splashed and grim. She imagined the King had been insane with worry.

_Lady An,_ she thought. She looked around for a raven, raising her hand. In a moment she found her invitation answered by a small, sleek hen.

"Message for the Queen. King and son together. Safe. Goblins on the run." The little hen ruffled herself and vanished.

And then several of the Royal Guard were forming a defensive circle around the King that included Skirfir and herself.

For them, the battle was over. They would be safe now, Mahal willing.

"Steady, there. Hold on," she heard her King say to his son, and turned to see Fjalar doubled over, stomach heaving. She met Fili's eyes and shared a moment of silent sympathy. Fili looked resigned. "Ah, lad. Just let it out," she heard him say, one hand on his young son's back.

A medic team from the Western Outpost arrived then, and after checking on the King and the Prince, came next to Nÿr and Skirfir. She knew both the lads who knelt beside her and wondered if they would have harsh words.

But they simply exchanged details about Skirfir's injury, ran through a quick assessment and concurred with her that he likely had a broken collarbone and ribs. Probably a concussion as well. No doubt the lad would have a painful recovery.

They were putting a backboard down when the King joined them with young Fjalar at his side.

"Let us help," he said, his long years on the battlefield making him knowledgeable about such things as shifting wounded soldiers onto backboards.

Next to her, Fjalar knelt uncertainly. "Tell me what to do," he asked Nÿr, his voice quiet. She handed him a clean cloth from the medic's kit. She nodded at a wound oozing on Skirfur's forehead. "Press that over the cut, hold it there."

Fjalar looked uncertain, but only for a moment. He did as directed.

The King dismissed the medics after they had Skirfir settled and ready to move. "We'll take him in," he said, nodding his head at the ever-present Royal Guard. "There are enough of us."

The medics moved on to find and aid other wounded. Nÿr checked the bleeding Fjalar was tending and tied a bandage to hold the cloth in place. Then they made ready to move out.

Nÿr retrieved her pack, shouldered it, and took the front right of the backboard. Two of the guard stepped up to take the left side. The King took the place behind her and then motioned for her to step aside and let Fjalar to take her position.

"You want _me_ to help carry him?" Fjalar asked. It was a simple question, not an objection.

"Yes, I do," his father said sternly. "You got yourself in this mess through your own disobedience. This lad is bearing the consequence—he took a mighty hit that was meant for you."

Nÿr and the guard waited patiently, realizing the King was imparting a lesson to his heir.

"A king tends to the wounded after a battle, Fjalar. If he can. Especially the ones who fall in his defense." Fili's voice was gentler, but his expression was unyielding and serious.

Fjalar nodded, a wealth of guilt and regret apparent on his young face, and he willingly stepped up, gripping the handhold firmly.

Nÿr could see this was going to be a stronger lesson than any parental yelling or chastising would ever be.

Because it was going to be a very long walk in the snow back to any road capable of a skid, and the lad had just spent a rough night alone and scared.

But that didn't mean he should be coddled.

**break**

**break**

It took over an hour of solid trudging to reach the Western Outpost. The rustic stone and log complex had become the impromtu command center and they were spotted coming in. Other healers hurried forward to take the backboard and care for Skirfir, and Nÿr went with them, reporting what she knew, assisting with cleaning and examining the injured cadet who was now chilled and miserable in pain.

It was a while before she looked back for her King, spotting him sitting in the full morning sun on a bench in the open area near the post command, his young son curled against him. The traumatized lad was limp with exhaustion and looked sound asleep. Fili's face was stony, but he was watchful. One hand gently stroked Fjalar's sun-gold hair. In a silent pact, everyone went about their business without disturbing them.

She caught the next skid up the mountain, riding with Skirfir.

And missed the moment when the brothers reunited.

**break**

**break**

Kili strode into camp some while later, trailing a line of exhausted but triumphant warriors, reporting to the Outpost Captain that the invaders had been hunted down to the last goblin, but patrols would be staying out while the weather held. His expression tight with worry, Kili then went straight to where his brother sat in the sunlight. He stopped, looking down at father and son.

"Is he all right?" He nodded to Fjalar. The words came out a little hoarse. He was beginning to feel his exhaustion.

Fili nodded, his expression suddenly full of sadness.

"And you?" Kili asked, assessing his brother.

"Alive." He looked at Fjalar. "It's harder than I thought it would be, seeing him in battle."

Kili let be. His brother would shake it off in a moment.

"It has to happen, though," Fili murmured. "Not even a new King in Gondor will stop goblins from hunting the Sons of Durin."

"I agree," Kili murmured. He crouched next to the lad, pushing a stray lock of hair from Fjalar's young face.

The lad woke and sat up, rubbing an eye. Seeing his uncle, he shrank back a bit. Clearly he expected reprimands and punishment.

Kili knew he had to be harder on the lad than his brother was. It was the uncle's role.

"You put yourself and your father at risk," he said, making sure he looked stern. "Eight warriors are dead. And you definitely scared Mahal's last crap out of me."

These words had the youngster looking at the ground.

"It was my fault," Fjalar admitted. "I didn't wait for the guard to take me home. I left on my own. I'm really sorry," he looked at his uncle with round eyes. "Really a lot sorry."

Kili recognized the sad puppy look, having perfected it himself at that age. How Thorin had ever withstood it, he didn't know.

Both brothers let the lad wait. Their eyes met. Then Kili shook his head, relenting.

"If it's any consolation, Fjalar," he softened his voice and rested his battle stained hands on the lad's knees. "I've since heard their plan in full. It wouldn't have mattered if you'd had ten guard walking you home. They'd already planned an ambush and dead guards were part of it."

Fjalar frowned.

"In a way, you saved some lives," Kili said. "Even if it was a poor choice that led to it."

The lad's expression remained contrite. After a moment he reached inside his coat, awkwardly pulling out a large blade.

"I stole a knife." He handed it over.

Kili took it. He stood and held it up to the light, testing its weight. "Elvish blade. Old. Who'd you take it from?"

Fjalar's eyebrow twitched. "Goblin."

Kili stood still. "Where is he now?"

"Dead."

"You kill him?"

The lad could barely nod.

Kili turned the handle around and held it out to the young prince. "This is yours then. Keep it."

Clearly, Fjalar's first choice would have been to never look at it again. But he raised his eyes to his uncle, saw surety, and swallowed.

"You earned it in self-defense, Fjalar. But I am glad you find no joy in killing. A true warrior never does. Take the knife and live to fight another day."

"It wasn't very heroic," Fjalar said quietly.

Kili raised an eyebrow. "It never is, lad."

"I threw up."

Kili shrugged. "Welcome to the club."

Fjalar finally reached up and accepted the knife.

Fili was looking at his son with mild amusement in his eye. "Knife that big, don't keep it inside your coat," he said to his son, reaching over to flip up the wide collar on the lad's leather jacket. "Keep it there." He patted a slot for it.

Fjalar looked at his jacket as if just now realizing it had a built in sheath in just the right place. He slid the old blade into it and let the flap fall back. He looked surprised.

"There you go," Fili said, and then he changed the subject. "You hungry?" he asked them. "I could eat a rib roast. Or a hunk of ham, maybe. Have to get home for that though." He looked around. "Think we could catch a ride up?"

Kili huffed in jest. "No idea how we'd swing that. Might take a royal decree or something."

Fjalar stood up, suddenly infused with energy. "I'll go ask," he bolted as if to run for a snow-skid.

His father pulled him sharply back, one fist on the tail end of the lad's hood. "Hold on, mountain lion."

Fjalar looked startled.

Kili rolled his eyes. "Running off by yourself…good idea?"

The lad looked sheepish. "No."

Kili held a hand out to his brother, pulling him to his feet. "How about we go together, then."


	14. Chapter 15

Fifteen

Nÿr leaned against her pack, immensely grateful to be riding the skid up the hill at the gentle, plodding pace of the draft animal. She had three patients to tend—two head wounds who'd been knocked senseless, and Skirfir, who'd been dosed with a potent painkiller that was making him unusually chatty.

"So…why the pack?" Skirfir asked, his words a little slurred.

"It was part of a plan I've since abandoned."

Skirfir frowned. "Tell me."

"Pretty insignificant now."

"Tell me anyway."

"Rumors…stirred up Dale."

"Your foster mother?"

She shook her head. "No. Ruby's no problem."

"The Dale man."

She looked at her hands, fidgeting with a roll of bandages. "You heard?"

"Kili," he winced as they rode over a rough patch. "Wasn't bothered by it."

"He already knew, Skirf. It's everyone else who's the problem."

"Huh."

His eyes closed and they rode in silence for a while.

"So you were running away in the middle of winter. Good plan," he murmured. "Really, really good idea."

"If you can muster that level of sarcasm," she chided. "I'm going to stop feeling sorry for you."

He looked like he might have laughed had he not been so heavily sedated.

"Don't worry," she said more seriously. "It only took a couple hours in the cold for me to realize what a bad decision it was." She frowned as they crossed another rough patch, getting up on her knees to tuck a rolled blanket tighter against Skirfir's back as a brace. She checked the two other patients on the skid, concerned about keeping them warm, then took her place next to Skirfir again.

"So everything's all right, then?" Skirfir asked. "With you and my Commander?"

"Why are you so worried about it?" she teased.

But the lad was serious. "He's lonely, Nÿr. We all see it."

"Oh, Skirf." She leaned her head back. "I want to fix things, but where do I even start?"

"Well," Skirfir said after a long minute, a ghost of a smile on his face. "Just give me your stone raven..."

**break**

**break**

The King and two Princes of Erebor were immediately given a snow-skid and a mounted escort. The captain of the Western Outpost seemed to take their safety as a personal mission.

"The sooner we have you back inside the Mountain, the sooner all this excitement is over," he barked.

Kili, exhausted, didn't fuss the fellow. He was simply glad to stretch out flat instead of ride or walk, and this way he could close his eyes, even if he didn't sleep. He was still too full of battle nerves for that.

But he did rest, his ears alert for ravens, ambushes, voices in the woods… And he leaned back with his sword across his body, unsheathed, his hand on the hilt. Beside him sat a bow and a full quiver of yellow-fletched arrows.

He thought that Fjalar would go back to sleep, but the lad sat tucked against his father, asking a hundred questions.

Fili was busy answering them as best he could. The lad was just trying to make sense of what had happened. _Good luck with that,_ Kili thought. Though he couldn't fault the lad for trying. It was a far better reaction than sitting and feeling sorry for himself.

"But why do they want to kill us?" Fjalar asked. "I heard them talking. They want to kill you, Uncle Kili, me…"

"We are the Sons of Durin, Fjalar," Fili began, his husky voice lulling Kili into memory as he retold a tale both glorious and tragic. He could almost hear Thorin's voice, relating this same history to two young lads, one light, one dark, so many years ago in front of a plain hearth in the halls of Ered Luin…

Fili kicked his boot and Kili started awake, realizing he'd been lost in thought.

"I said," Fjalar was looking at him. "What do you think?"

Kili's brain backtracked. "About why Durin's Sons are hunted?"

Fjalar nodded.

Kili sighed. "At the very root of it…if Sauron couldn't have us, then he wanted no one to have us. He wanted our mithril, our spell magic. We would have made powerful servants to the dark lord."

Fjalar was blinking. "Why does anybody have to have us? Why can't we just have ourselves?"

"Ah," Fili answered. "Well, everybody needs friends, Fjalar. Like Dale. They helped us a great deal today."

The questions went on, and Kili followed them more closely now.

"Da?" Fjalar's intonation told Kili that he was beginning a new topic.

"Yes, son?"

"There was something else I heard them talking about that I don't understand." Kili heard the lad detail a rather explicit act of unusual intimacy, complete with gutter language.

"Why would anybody do that?" the lad asked, clearly baffled.

Kili turned his spontaneous laugh into a coughing fit.

Fili punched his arm.

Kili opened his eyes to see his brother pinching the bridge of his nose, his son looking up at him expectantly.

"I think," Fili managed to say, "That's really the kind of question that uncles answer better than dads."

Fjalar's eyes turned to him and Kili stared back, completely at a loss for words.

**break**

**break**

It wasn't until sunset that Kili had time to think alone. His afternoon had been packed: food, bath, change of clothes, debriefings, changes to the guard rotations to make their routine less predictable…

But now he stood by himself on the western terrace, watching the sun drop to the distant horizon and waiting to see if any last ravens would come by to report. So far, they all said the same thing. Goblins were dead. Nothing between here and the Wood of the Greenleaves.

That was good, though he certainly had plenty of other things to think about. The Slaghead plot for revenge against his brother was no longer at the top of his list, but five of that banished group were still unaccounted for. He could hope that they were long gone, spending the rest of their days happily working some far underground mine. Time would tell.

And he wasn't worried about Duf any longer. He'd exchanged messages back and forth with the Dale ravenspeaker at mid-afternoon, thanking Young Bard for his assistance on the field of battle. Bard was apparently leading celebrations in town, given the ravens were calling him "silly Bard" when they spoke about him. Kili interpreted that as "drunken Bard." He wondered if Bofur was still down there, enjoying a roaring party at Ruby's.

The other things he worried about were curiously knotting together in his brain. He knew he needed sleep, that things would sort better when he'd rested a few days.

But for now, his young nephew (now home safe), his intended (or maybe his no longer intended), and even the structure of Erebor's security (obviously compromised) swirled together in his head.

And finally, his thoughts settled on Nÿr.

She'd been in the woods this morning because she'd been leaving. That was plain to him.

He couldn't see it as sheer accident, though. The cause was mean-spirited information purposefully circulated by a Slaghead. That the gossip had spread like flashfire through Erebor and that it had driven her to leave wasn't necessarily her fault, though it wasn't the best reaction she could have had.

Part of him wished he could leave with her. Just take a pack, the two of them heading out into those lands that he could see and not touch...make for the Blue Mountains. Stop in the Shire. See things he'd always meant to go see.

Always _hoped_ to go see.

But while she might leave Erebor and live a long and happy life, he could not. That reality made his heart sink, and not for the first time in his life did he feel the deep, bitter unfairness of it.

The morgul curse that lived in his blood not only made his life hell once a year on Durin's Day. It made him easy prey to wraith spells…in fact, if he left the lands of Erebor, it would draw those who used such things to him as sure as he could call a raven.

And those kinds of people would always be out there.

It had happened before, to his grandfather. No one liked to talk about it, but Thrain had been so damaged by the time the dark forces had finished with him that he was unrecognizable.

Kili had seen what the knowledge of it had done to Thorin.

And he didn't want that. Not for himself, and even more, not for Fili.

And that was the other truth.

He could not walk away from his brother.

Never. Not for anything.

Kili finally turned and climbed back to the upper level of the western terrace, stopping to look back as the sun finally dipped below the distant ridgeline of the Misty Mountains.

If Nÿr truly wanted to leave, he wouldn't stop her.

Because having to stay was a completely different thing than wanting to stay.

**break**

**break**

It was well past the change of the midnight watch when Kili finally took himself to Jormund the Apothecary's statue. Earlier in the evening, he'd visited Skirfir in the infirmary and found the lad in a drugged sleep with the small dragonstone carving of a raven clutched in his hand.

Kili recognized it as Nÿr's. He understood the message easily enough. _Meet me in the study_. Skirfir was their go-between, after all.

What he didn't understand was her intent, but damned if he would wake the lad and ask him.

So now here he was, at the crossroads so to speak. Go in, or don't go in.

He wasn't entirely sure she was still there, and he knew he may have missed his chance. He also wasn't entirely sure he was ready to face her, since there was at least one possible outcome here that he really didn't want to confront. She could be leaving.

And part of him wouldn't blame her.


	15. Chapter 16

Sixteen

Kili opened the door to Nÿr's hideaway with his key. There was light inside, a single oil lamp, and then he saw her, asleep at the study table: three books open, head cradled on one arm, a crumpled hankie in her other hand. One look told him she'd probably tried to study, then cried herself to sleep.

This wasn't what he wanted. Not this unhappiness.

He closed the door silently, stepped inside, and set her little dragonstone raven on the table with a tap.

She moved, woke, and sat up. She rubbed her face but wouldn't look at him.

"Hey," he said quietly. "I got your message."

She nodded.

"It's a little cold in here," he pointed out, seeing wood in the fireplace, unlit.

"I couldn't light it..." Her voice trailed off and she looked away, pulling her hands close to warm them.

He didn't judge. "You want…" he gestured to the fireplace. "I could…"

She nodded, wiping a sleepy eye.

He slid his flint out of his pocket. Once he had the fire going, he looked back to see she hadn't moved.

So he stood and held out a hand to her. "Come on," he said softly. "Can't get warm from over there."

It worked. She slowly rose from the chair and came to the fire. She looked stiff. He'd heard about the fight with the goblin. In fact, he heard more in his nephew's description of it than Fjalar himself really understood. But he took a chance and reached out to very gently pull her closer, his arm lightly around her shoulders. It was a risk, he knew. She might push him away.

But to his great relief, she stepped forward and leaned softly against him, barely touching. After a moment, one arm came around his waist.

He didn't expect more. He let her be. "I'm sorry," he said, "that what happened in Dale got back here without me. I heard," he struggled to keep his voice neutral. "What people said to you. I never wanted that. I wish…I could have protected you from it."

She was still.

"But it's your right to stop things. You're free to do that." He tried to say it so that she could hear his acceptance of it. "You can leave, you can walk away, whatever you want. Just…that's what I'll do." He steeled himself in case that's where this was headed.

She pulled back, finally looking at him.

That's when the hollow feeling hit his gut. Here it was. She was going to say she was done.

Mahal, he wasn't sure he could hear this.

"Don't," she said, her voice barely loud enough to hear. She reached up and touched his lips, as if wishing he would stop. "No…Kili." She was shaking her head and tears were welling, but he wasn't entirely sure what she meant.

"You're the reason I came home," she whispered. Then her hands came up to cup his face, to pull him closer.

"You are the one thing," her voice was stronger now. "I want to hold onto. I love you, and I'm not walking away for anything." Her eyes were so round, so full of unshed tears. "Unless it's what you want, now that everyone knows about…"

He didn't let her finish. "Sweetie, stop," he murmured, his voice rough. He wrapped his arms around her, closed his eyes and swallowed.

He held her for a long moment, then pulled back, looking her in the eye and smoothing loose hair back from her forehead with one hand, then the other, his hands framing her face like he was holding glass. "You were honest from the start, and we knew this would get tossed at us someday…so now it's out and it's done. It's done," he said.

She barely nodded, her expression full of pain, tears streaming down her face.

He wiped them away with his thumbs just to see them replaced. "With all my heart I want you here," he said. "But only if it's where you really want to be…" his voice suddenly failed him. He wanted to say more, but all he could do is rest his forehead against hers.

Mahal.

Her arms came around him tight now, and he closed his eyes, cradling her head against his shoulder. They were both sniffing.

"It _is_ what I want," she whispered. "I swear, Kili. Here with you. I'm so sorry that I left. I had turned around, I was coming back when…"

"Shhhh."

She wiped tears.

He tried to calm his gut.

Somehow, he coaxed her to the big chair, slowly pulling her beside him. They touched each others' faces, slowly kissing. It was a powerful kiss, full of regret and apology and touched with humility. It deepened something in their love, and it was all they needed. They curled up together, just relieved to rest in each others' arms, her head buried against his chest.

They didn't talk. Drowsy, he kissed her forehead.

She slipped a hand inside his leathers, resting it on the softer fabric of his shirt.

And they both fell into exhausted sleep, the events of the last few days leaving Kili as wrung out as if he'd just had a fresh bout of morgul fever.

**break**

**break**

When Kili woke, he sensed someone else in the study. His sleepy brain couldn't quite fathom it. Only one other person in all of Erebor had a key to this room.

He focused his eyes and saw the sturdy form of his brother in front of the fire, adding a log and stoking the flame.

Fili turned and looked at them, his expression solemn.

"Sorry to walk in on you," he said in a low, husky voice. "But half the mountain's been in my antechamber insisting that the two of you have either run away, killed each other in a suicide pact, or thrown yourselves down the deepest mine."

Kili snorted. "As if…" he mumbled sleepily.

Next to him, Nÿr stirred awake, but he held a hand against her back in assurance that she didn't need to move. She shifted, but stayed curled against him.

Fili put the fireplace poker back on its hook. "So it's a good thing I know where your hiding place is." He sat back. "Or the Guard would be turning the whole Mountain inside out again. Can't really have that…so I felt it was time to make sure you were all right." He locked eyes with his brother.

"We're all right," Kili said. "At least I think we are."

Nÿr sat up then, blinking sleep from her eyes. She covered her face with her hands a moment, then dropped them to her lap. "We are," she said. "And…I apologize for my behavior…running out on Lady An…" she started.

"Ah, none of that," Fili said. "You weathered the Erebor rumor mill better than most and rescued a prince at the same time." He smiled gently.

Nÿr sighed. "I'm happy about the prince, but sorry to say the rumor mill is true," she said. "I did once spend my time with a Dale man. It was decades ago. Long over." She looked at Kili, then at his brother, her King. "But I do own it. It did happen." Kili reached out and gently rubbed her back.

Fili nodded approval of her admission, then shrugged. "It's really no one's business but yours, Princess."

Kili looked at his brother, then smiled slowly. Fili had just given Nÿr her future title—because once they married, that's what she would be.

He looked at her to see if she'd noticed.

And saw her cheeks blushing pink.

"You know," Fili said, standing and changing the subject. "I think the two of you might be more comfortable here if you expanded into the other rooms."

Kili's eyebrows went up. "What other rooms?"

Fili's grin was mischievous now. "The ones on the other side of this wall," he said, pointing.

**break**

**break**

_**Author's Note: at the risk of tmi, I would like to credit Ron Pope with the line, "you're the reason I came home." I was listening to his song "You're the Reason I Come Home" as writing music-feel free to give it a listen if you'd like. It's a very quiet, indy kind of tune-just guitar and voice (it's music I was working to, after all) but it was the background for the first part of this chapter-sort of a Nÿr's Theme tune. Find it on iTunes, or just google ron pope you're the reason i come home youtube to listen free. I was listening to the 2012 live version. (Sorry, you'll have to skip the ad on the youtube version.)**_


	16. Chapter 17

****Last Chapter for Ravenspeakers! Hope it balances Chapter One and wraps things up. Huge thanks to everyone who's been following. **

**New Story brewing: Yep, there's a new story all sketched out, so I invite you to hop on over once it's posted (some time in the next week.) It will be titled ****_Erebor, 3022: Kinseekers, A Courtship Year Story_****. I'll post a teaser chapter here when chapter one is ready so those of you following Ravenspeakers will see it. Maybe attached to an Epilogue of Nÿr/Kili Valentine's fluff ;D**

**Heartfelt thanks to all of you who've been reading Ravenspeakers, whether you started from the first chapter or jumped in mid-stream. Your encouragement means a lot. Drop me a note if you like, feedback is always welcome.**

**If you haven't seen it, I have a Pinterest board with fan art that has inspired me…new: snowboarding Fili/Kili! LOL! To see it, just google "Summer Alden Pinterest" and you'll see the Durin's Day board. (Don't worry, Summer Alden is an alias…not my real name.)**

**Much love and appreciation to you, **

**-Summer**

**break**

**break**

Chapter Seventeen

"Are you serious?" Kili looked at his brother in disbelief.

Kili and Nÿr were out of the big chair, standing up to look at the wall as if they had no idea about any rooms but the small, secret hideaway.

Fili stepped to the left of the fireplace, moved the extra study chair aside, and pointed to the emblem of a pine tree embedded in the end cap of the fireplace mantle.

Kili and Nÿr just stared, and then it was Nÿr who reached out and pressed the tile.

A muffled thump, and a seam opened on the wall, just wide enough for someone to slip in a hand.

Fili made a motion to show they should slide the wall to the left.

Kili did, mouth open in surprise at the ingenious workings as the whole thing slid silently into the corner behind the big chair, creating a wide pass-through.

Into what looked like an entire apartment.

Fili took the oil lamp off the study table and handed it to his brother.

Kili took Nÿr's hand and stepped through.

Rooms…more than he expected. Freshly cleaned and appointed. He looked at Nÿr. "It's actually big enough for two. For three or four even."

"Twelve," Fili said, then shrugged. "Counting staff." Then he pointed to a hallway. "And there's the real front door—proper alcove entry and everything."

"Leading to where?" Kili asked, eyes wide.

"Across the hall from mine."

He looked at his brother. "That door? You knew it led here and never told me?"

Fili shrugged. "I was going to. At some point."

"You rat," Kili said, teasing him for keeping such a secret.

"Yep," Fili said, a smug smile on his face. "And that's not even the best part."

Kili's expression went blank.

Fili pointed to another pine motif tile and Nÿr stepped up to press it.

The tallest wall in the suite opened a crack, and Fili slid it back, revealing sunlight through six large reinforced doors with a grid of glass panels above. The effect was a wall of windows three or four times the height of Young Bard down in Dale.

"Come on out," Fili said, opening one of the doors.

Kili and Nÿr followed him into a portico that opened to a broad, open parapet overlooking young pines on a steep, snow covered hillside.

"What a perfect, perfect place for Ravenspeaking," Nÿr breathed. "They might even nest in that grove of young pines."

Kili's eyes couldn't take it all in. It was like the western terrace, only on a smaller scale and _private_. It was also more secure—a natural formation perched at the top of an inaccessible cliff with no trail leading down and a protective overhang high above.

He craned his neck and turned a small circle. "Look at the old scorch marks…" He pointed to blackened streaks on the stone.

Fili nodded. "Leftover from the dragon years."

"You renovated?" Kili said, noticing old holes in the rock, signs that a fence or gate had once enclosed the portico, though there was no iron work here now.

"Not me," Fili shook his head. "Balin. Seems it was his secret pet project."

"Why?"

"I tried asking Dwalin about that and didn't get anywhere."

Fili and Kili exchanged a look.

"What?" Nÿr asked.

"Talk about a rumor from the past," Kili held up his hands in a _not touching that_ gesture.

Nÿr looked from one to the other.

"Balin and our mother," Fili said, smiling. "He apparently had quite a thing for her." He shrugged. Their mother was dead now, of course.

"No idea if they ever really…you know. Got together," Kili said.

But Fili raised an eyebrow, as if to say, _that's not what I thought._

"_Did_ they?" Kili asked. Then his mouth opened and shut. "No. Tell me there wasn't…"

"I think there was," Fili shrugged. "He was around a lot that one winter."

"No. It couldn't be," Kili argued. "All I knew about was that summer when Dwalin was…"

Fili's eyebrows went up. "No. _Dwalin_…?"

Kili closed his mouth as if realizing he'd said too much. Then both brothers were laughing and looking at their feet.

"Erebor: free skeletons in every closet." Fili grinned at Nÿr, tucked his hands in his pockets and headed back inside. "Taking the shortcut home, if you don't mind."

**break**

**break**

Kili was much less sleep deprived three weeks later when they held Fjalar's ravenspeaker confirmation out on the newly discovered parapet overlooking the young pines. They'd taken to calling it the Pine Ledge, or even just the Ledge, and the new rooms were called the Annex. The brothers had already overseen a redesign of the outer hall, merging the two suites into one large family complex.

Nÿr had been moved from the trainee dorm to her own room in the Annex. Lady An cited security needs and demanded two things from the master physician: first, that he rescind Nÿr's resignation and continue the remainder of her healer training, and second, to accept that the lass would be living under Lady An's personal protection inside the family quarters from now on, with strict reviews of her duties and treatment.

She was a Daughter of Durin, after all, and from now on, under the Queen's explicit care.

And so it was done.

If Kili had also moved into the Annex, no one spoke of it outside the immediate family.

And so they were on the Ledge, sitting on one of the rustic benches in the mid-morning sun, one hour before the guests were due, both freshly out of the bath. Even in winter, the Pine Ledge on a sunny morning was a fine place to sun-dry long hair.

Nÿr had her back to the sun, her thick hair fanned out and mostly dry.

Kili had finger-combed his, quickly tied back his prince's tail, and then looked at his intended as she brushed hers and started to separate it into three sections.

"I can do that for you," he offered.

Nÿr looked over her shoulder at him, surprised. "Really?" She didn't quite know what to say. "Do you know that no one has braided my hair for me since…well, since I was Iri's age." She referred to Fili's youngest and only daughter.

And hair braiding was a most intimate matter between dwarves. His offer was taking their courtship to a new level.

Kili swung one leg over the bench and scooted close to her. "Then lucky you," he murmured. "Because I have a gift." He held out a slender rope of mithril and amethysts, the sort of string dwarves liked to weave into braids.

She accepted it with a gasp and then felt his strong hands making quick work of pulling her hair back to the nape of her neck and separating it into three thick strands. After a minute he held out his hand for the silver rope and expertly wove the braid, which went all the way to her waist. She looked behind, seeing the beautiful silver and pink jewels intertwined all the way to the end of the tail.

"You are spoiling me," she breathed, admiring his work.

"It's just so I can do this," he teased, leaning in to kiss the skin below her ear. "I get this unexplainable urge every time I see your neck…"

Nÿr giggled, turned, and pulled him into a real kiss. After a moment of adjusting the hair around each others' faces, they declared themselves ready to host a small party.

Guests arrived through the family entry—Fili and his two younger boys, who were shown the steep dropoff outside and given strict rules about how close to the edge they could go. And Lady An, with charming little Iri in her arms, the child's sunny curls in twin pony tails high above each ear.

When old Dwalin arrived, hobbling in with the aid of his gnarled staff, he marveled at the portico and the Pine Ledge, admiring his brother Balin's work.

"I was up here with him several times when he was renovating," Dwalin revealed, a merry twinkle in his eye. "In his mind, he was building these rooms for a Princess," he took hold of Nÿr's hand and reeled her in for a kiss on the cheek and an arm around her shoulders. "He's sitting up in Aule's Hall pleased to see it's for you, dear lass."

Kili felt a surprising stab of jealousy at that, then laughed at himself when his brother nudged him and raised an eyebrow that clearly said, _mind your manners, bro._

So Kili grinned instead. After all, if old Dwalin couldn't flirt with her, who could? And Nÿr seemed to like the old dwarf. There was no doubt she had a manner with him that had led to a comfortable affinity. It was part of her healer's abilities, he reflected, to soothe even the most irascible old warrior. He wondered how she would have charmed his uncle Thorin, famously more difficult.

And he well recalled watching her move through the festivities at the Durin's Day celebrations, gently checking on young and old. It was part of what had drawn him to her in the first place. She spent her time caring about the people of Erebor rather than putting herself on display like the other highborn lasses. The well-being of Erebor's residents genuinely mattered to her.

Even when they were at their gossipy worst. Luckily, the rumor mill was off on other topics these days, and the chatter about the Prince's intended and a man in Dale had run its course and been forgotten.

"_You_ have an errand," Nÿr reminded him as she slid into his arms for a moment, offering a happy kiss as if to show old Dwalin that he didn't stand a chance.

"I do at that," he said. "Provided I can trust this old interloper to keep his hands off you."

Dwalin enjoyed the jest. "She's not yours yet, laddie."

Nÿr rolled her eyes and shooed her intended towards the door.

It was an errand Kili had been looking forward to, and he headed for the infirmary.

The ravenspeaker confirmation was a private matter, to be sure, but Fjalar had insisted on inviting his new friend, Skirfir the cadet archer. No one objected and the invitation had been issued and accepted.

So Kili arrived at the infirmary to collect the lad and provide a personal honor escort. He was pleased to see the young cadet on the mend and walking easily on the short trip up to the royal suite, despite having one arm in a sling to support his mending collarbone and ribs.

Kili opened the door into his new quarters and invited the lad inside.

Skirfir's eyes were wide. "This is where you live, sir?"

"Well, it's pretty much shared by the whole family." Kili guided the lad through the entry. "And we're both off duty, so enough of the _sirs_," he winked.

Skirfir nodded and walked in slowly, patently in awe.

And when he saw Nÿr, he stopped, flat out stunned.

She was so simply beautiful that Kili knew how the lad felt—she stood wrapped in a new, long-sleeved dress the color of robins' eggs edged with pale moon. The narrow sleeves extended all the way to her knuckles and a single, narrow sash ran the length of the long, elegant skirt that fell from mid- chest. And then there was her hair—with the string of mithril and pale amethysts that he had worked into her single long, thick black braid.

"What do you think?" Kili put his hand on the lad's good shoulder and bent to murmur in his ear. "Does she look like a Princess?"

Skirfir could only blink and barely voice a whispered, "Mahal, yes…"

Kili agreed and Nÿr blushed, extending a hand to young Skirf and leading him to the doors outside.

Fjalar greeted his new friend very formally and then they both relaxed, heading off to explore the Ledge. Kili watched them a moment. He had plans for those two. He'd already discussed it with his brother. It was time to form a Prince's Guard for Fjalar, and Skirfir was young enough to become a confidante and shield-brother, yet old enough to have good sense.

And Kili had no doubt of the lad's loyalty to the line of Durin.

With the youngsters gone, Kili only had eyes for a certain tall, fresh-faced healer lass. He stood before her and found himself suddenly and completely fascinated by her plump lower lip—painted with a light touch of pale pink.

He wanted to lead her straight into the bedroom, but he smiled and offered his hand instead.

She returned his smile, her expression that incredible mix of quirky shyness and competent surety that always made his brain stall. She took his hand, lifting it to her lips for a very soft kiss, then led him outside to join the others.

**break**

**break**

The King only had eyes for his firstborn son. The lad had changed in the last weeks, and while Fili silently mourned the loss of his innocent child, he was warming up to the idea of the new young warrior in training.

To the lad's credit, Fjalar looked quite humbly serious when old Dwalin, as Senior Ravenspeaker, called him forth to prove his worth.

"We give you the turn of an hour glass to call a raven," Dwalin announced. "To send it off with a message, and have it return with a reply." With that, the hour glass was turned.

Fili looked at his brother, who had been the one to actually train the young prince, and saw his complete confidence in the lad.

So Fili relaxed, letting himself enjoy the moment as the first of his sons stepped forward and raised his arm in invitation.

Within minutes, none other than Huq, the current Raven Chief, flew down in response, shocking the lad into a moment of speechlessness. Huq was given a message and asked to deliver it to Dori, stationed on Ravenhill. Huq made an elegant bow and then took flight. After several patient minutes, he returned with a Ravenhill marker strung around his neck for proof.

And the hour glass had not even passed the quarter mark.

The gathered audience clapped, and Fjalar held the proud bird up for admiration. He looked back to his family, his eyes searching for Fili. They regarded each other.

Fili put his hand on his heart and nodded his approval, grinning. "That's my lad!" he said proudly, meaning it. "Welcome, Ravenspeaker!"

Everyone had cheered, congratulating Fjalar on his new status—now known to the flock as King But Not King.

Which Fjalar's little brothers promptly shortened to King Butt.

Fili snorted. You could always count on little brothers to add interest to your day, he reflected.

But it mattered little, since Fjalar laughed as hard as everyone else. There would be a more public celebration with more formal decorum at the upcoming equinox banquet.

Though in truth, Fili wasn't sure his brother and his intended were quite ready for public appearances yet. They both still looked a little fragile around the edges to his eye. He watched them, holding hands tightly and staying very close to each other, though Nÿr was nothing short of gorgeous in that dress.

He had no doubts now, about an impending marriage. Next winter. Soon enough.

It would mean a new baby someday, he hoped. He wondered when. Then he looked at his own beautiful lady wife and considered the mathematics of conception, always complicated when it came to dwarf-kind. What kind of timing would it take to add baby number five to his little family? A sunny-haired cousin for the raven child he knew Kili would father. They'd be hellions, cute as puppies, and terrors of the nursery together.

"What's on your mind?" An came up beside him, teasing. "I saw that look."

Fili raised his eyebrows and feigned complete innocence.


	17. Chapter 18

Epilogue

Nÿr's nightmares took the events of one hour several weeks ago and replayed them with variation after variation, remixing the actual events into new versions of horror.

_Early morning light, snow, and a chaotic scramble as an entire horde of vile goblins swarm around them, the air full of grunts, growling, and the sound of metal on metal._

_She keeps trying to reach Fjalar, trying to crawl over corpses and through blood... She pulls him quickly beneath the narrow space under the skid, her arms around him, shielding the lad with her body._

_Then they overturn the skid. A goblin gropes about, his crooked, clawed hands looking for proof of her gender by grasping at her breasts._

_She loses her grip on Fjalar, sees his face as they pull him away. She can feel the goblin's claws on her skin, his maleness on her skin, his breath on her skin…_

_She wants to help the young prince, but when she reaches for him, it's not Fjalar—it's his little sister Iri and Skirfir lies gutted in the snow beyond._

_Her instinct to protect the child flares, she reaches for a lance abandoned on the ground, gets one hand around it and twists within the goblin's grip, breaking free. Her anger is in complete control as she spins the lance in her hand and thrusts upward into the goblin's gut, aiming for its vile heart._

And then she wakes, sitting up, to cold air and a dimly lit, silent room. Not the trainee dorm. Her new room in the Annex.

Her heart is racing and she heaves for breath.

Beside her, someone moves and the light becomes a little brighter.

She looks at Kili, her intended, his hair mussed from sleep. He sits back, one arm on the wooden chest next to the bed, and regards her. It is not judgment. It is a serious, calm empathy.

He lets her be. Waiting. He knows that the goblin tried to rape her. He knows Fjalar killed it before things got past grappling. He knows she killed the one that came after, the one that tried for Fjalar but got Skirfir instead.

He also knows that nightmares twist memory into more frightening versions of the actual events, playing on a warrior's fears.

Nÿr covers her face with her hands. "This time, it was Iri they had instead of Fjalar…" She tries to slow her breathing. "It's not what really happened. It's just my dream brain…"

He nods. Waits.

Finally, the nightmare fades enough that Nÿr turns to him, wanting the warmth of his embrace. He is cautious about touching her when the nightmares come. But she _wants_ his touch—wants to fill her mind with _his_ scent, the feel of _his_ warm hands, the comfort of her lover's body and no one else's. Those things chase the twisted nightmares away better than anything.

"It always ends with me _wanting_ to kill. I don't understand it…I'm a healer."

"Shhh." His arms are around her and he kisses her forehead. "You're a dwarf," he murmurs. "Believe me, I've seen the kindest old granny go after a goblin with a fireplace poker to protect a child. It's your dwarfy nature, sweetheart."

"You think it's because Fjalar is young?"

"This time your brain turned it to Iri…I'd say that's a clue. If I saw a goblin lay hands on her, I'd go insane."

"You're a warrior."

He snorts. "I'm a dwarf. The instinct to protect a child would over-ride my training in about two seconds. Fili whacked off a lord's head for threatening his children. Tell me THAT wasn't a hasty reaction."

She lets herself relax against his chest.

"Same for you, Nÿr. Healers are warriors, too. We all fight death. That's something my uncle Thorin taught me."

"What?"

"Good warriors don't aim to kill, they aim to stay alive and keep their brothers-in-arms alive. Killing the enemy is just the best way to do that."

They are silent. She listens to his heart beat. It calms her, and soon her heart beats in sync with his.

"I don't understand why the nightmares don't just go away. I wasn't even hurt. It was all over so quickly, really."

"There are no unwounded warriors, Nÿr. That includes you, now."

She is quiet, thinking. She's always looked at the physical wounds and counted the lack as a good thing.

"The nightmares just mean you survived," he says, reaching over to turn the lamp low again. He moves to stretch out in the bed they share, and she moves with him, welcoming the arm that pulls her close.

It helps to feel him beside her. She wonders how many battles he's survived, how many variations on nightmares haunt his dreams. They don't seem to wake him in the night, the way hers do.

"How do you do it?"

He doesn't answer at first. "I ask myself if I would really have it any other way."

She is getting sleepy again, but Nÿr considers this.

"If you had it to do over, would you change what you did?" he asks.

"No."

"Sometimes that's the place to start."

"Start what?"

"Making peace with yourself. You wouldn't normally harm another living thing. But now you know…you'd kill a goblin if it harmed a child. Accept it about yourself and maybe it will stop haunting you."

"I would kill a goblin who harmed a child," she murmurs. She feels something settle in her gut when she says it out loud. "Does this bother you?"

He makes a noise somewhere between a scoff and a grunt. "It's not for me to judge. You are who you are, Daughter of Durin. You have my love, no matter what."

The tenseness in her neck seems to vanish. If he says more, she doesn't hear it.

And she doesn't wake again until well into the morning.

**End**

**End**

**If you want the art prompt for Kili in the Epilogue, see Aegilif's "Kili" artwork posted on the artist's deviantart page, or on my Pinterest board (google Summer Alden Pinterest and look for the Durin's Day board.) Don't worry, Summer Alden is an alias.

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**And Now! Teaser Chapter for the new story: Kinseekers. I posted it this AM, so I invite you to head on over and follow! Huge thanks to everyone who's been reading Ravenspeakers...Love you guys!**

Kinseekers: Chapter One

"We have letters back from the envoy to Minas Tirith," Fili reported as he sat himself down in one of the new wood and leather chairs, right next to his brother.

Kili, already comfortably stretched out with his booted feet on a footrest, raised his eyebrows. "And? They accepted the treaty?"

"They did," Fili answered. He was admiring the view of the sunset over the lake. The chairs faced the newly discovered wall of windows in the great room of the royal family's quarters, and from here they could see a broad view down the mountain to the long lake.

"Good to know," Kili smiled, glad to see his brother sinking into the plump cushions and relaxing. Sitting here together at the end of their busy days had become a new tradition. For the last two months they had been fascinated with watching the view change with the seasons. There were already signs of spring flowers down at lake level.

Lady Nÿr, healer trainee and Kili's intended, brought mugs of hot tea—the blackleaf variety they all liked to drink in the afternoons. Her days were as busy as theirs, but in the infirmary.

Kili took the mug she handed him and when their eyes met, his brows drew together.

"What's wrong?" he asked quietly.

Nÿr handed the second mug to Fili, who looked up, his expression concerned.

"I wondered if I might have a word," she said carefully. "With you both, I mean."

"Speak your mind," Kili said.

"It's about your cousin, Dwalin," she said. "His health." She pushed her single, long black braid off her shoulder.

"Dwalin's a tough old guy," Kili shrugged.

"Getting pretty old," Fili agreed. "Just age."

Nÿr looked at her hands. "You're right, of course. But…there's something more. The master physician and I paid him a visit this morning."

Both brothers looked concerned now.

"He's quite ill, Kili," she said, meeting her intended's eyes, feeling sorry to be delivering this news. "It's a wasting disease. A mass near his kidneys." She touched her own stomach to show. "He's reached the stage where his time may not be much longer."

She regretted bearing the news. Both brothers looked shocked.

"How long?" Fili managed, his voice husky.

Nyr shook her head. "Maybe two months. No more." She looked at Kili. "I wanted to ask you if we could move him here," she held a hand out to the light filled rooms. "It would be easier to care for him, and he could see outside..."

"Sure. Yes. Whatever you want," Kili said, eyes wide. She reached out and their hands met. Kili could see unshed tears welling in her eyes when she let go and left.

The brothers were silent. The old dwarf was the closest living elder they had, and he was a venerable hero to the people of Erebor, many times over.

In Kili's mind, losing Dwalin would be like losing their uncle, Thorin Oakenshield, all over again.


	18. Chapter 4

****Apologies for the re-post of this chapter from Ravenspeakers...system kept posting an incorrect chapter in error and wouldn't resolve...so I finally deleted the old chapter and re-posted.**  
**

Four

Kili and Young Bard got a fair view of the street brawl in the Red Silk Quarter as they came down the steep hill from Dale's city center. A cadre of city constables jogged ahead of them, parting the crowd and disrupting the fight.

Bard waded into the mixed crowd of men and dwarves.

Kili and the two hill brothers herded a group of fist-wielding dwarves, merchants and off-duty guard, to one side. The Erebor lads initially put up a cantankerous show of resistance, then recognized their Prince in plain clothes and quickly stood down. With the Erebor folk out of the fray, Kili hopped onto the back of a wagon for a view of the crowd.

"What is the meaning of this rabble?" Bard demanded. Men shouted conflicting stories.

Kili looked at the Erebor dwarves. Thankfully he saw neither Bofur nor Skirfir in the sorry looking group.

"By my beard," one of the older guards grumbled to Kili. "It was the men who started it. That group there," he nodded toward dark coated men in the back, one with a spectacularly bleeding nose. "We were just trying to stay out of it."

"And we did," a young merchant lad added, "Right up until the fight landed in our laps."

Kili shrugged sympathetically. "Self defense, then," he said, as if he understood perfectly.

"Except for those lads," the first guard complained. He pointed to three unfamiliar dwarves who stood by the men, their bone-beaded beards and mis-matched coats styled more orc-like than dwarven.

"Grey Mountain smugglers," Var grumbled to Kili. His brother nodded. "Slagheads," he said, naming their tribe, an offshoot of the Stonefoots. "Still trade with goblins. Gundabad would have dried up and blown away long ago if this lot wasn't arming them."

Kili frowned. The long years before the last war had not been kind to the seven dwarf kingdoms. While the House of Durin had scraped by in the Blue Mountains far to the west, the lesser branches of other houses had fallen into subsistence trading with factions of goblins, orcs, and worse. Some of those old trade relations remained. After all, most dwarves could not resist a business opportunity and goblins would readily trade stolen and scavenged goods for even inferior iron and low-grade blasting powders.

But that kind of business was a gamble in the best of times, for the goblin that paid you at sunset would likely kill you by midnight.

Young Bard's strong voice rose above the crowd. "Enough! Move along, go about your business." His constables had a small group of men under arrest, the remainder being told to get on with their day.

Kili searched the crowd for the Slagheads. "Did you see where they went?" he asked.

But no one was sure.

And the crowd dispersed far too easily in Kili's opinion.

**break**

**break**

"Smoke screen. Something else is up, my lord," Kili said, following Bard inside Ruby's House, the Red Silk pub where the clash had started. They would stay a short while to be sure the fighting didn't resume. "This brawling is meant to keep us too busy to notice some other action."

Bard stopped and looked at him, his expression puzzled. Then he nodded. "I think you're right. Question is, what's really afoot?"

"Exactly," Kili said. "Maybe we'll get some hints." He nodded at the customers re-settling in Ruby's, suggesting that someone here might say something interesting. Bard winked, agreeing.

Together they quietly mingled with the crowd, taking stock of the men and dwarves inside Ruby's, assessing the chances for a peaceful afternoon and fishing for information. Slowly, men and dwarves alike resumed the usual banter and joking typical of a pub.

To Kili's surprise, he found Bofur inside, having helped himself to a large tankard of foaming ale while everyone else had gone outside for the fight. The group of Erebor merchants and guards from the street were all too happy to join him.

"Where's Skirfir?" Kili demanded, when he got a moment to speak close to Bofur's ear.

"Ah, the lad's up on Brewer's Lane. He's holding his own." Bofur drank deeply. "Just wanted to check a few things here and I was certain you didn't really want the lad about this kind of place."

Kili held his tongue, considering whether or not Bofur was truly an idiot.

And that's when the lady of the house noticed the Prince in their midst.

Dressed in garish ruby red, she stood at the top of the staircase to the love nest part of the establishment and raised her hands in over-joyed abandon.

"And there he is!" The large, gaudy robed madam squealed, fanning herself as she started down the stairs and straight for Kili.

"My sweet baby's husband to be! A Prince, no less, ladies!"

Kili stood rooted to the spot, utterly astonished by the large, silk-draped, sparkling and feathered madam barreling her way straight for him.

She leaned forward, lips extended. "Mwoah…! Give me a kiss my boy." She pressed her ample weight against him, then stepped back to address the crowd. "Our little Nÿr's intended! Such a lucky lass-just look at him." She gushed, looking around the room shamelessly, fanning herself. "Hotter up close and personal, I say." She laughed, raised an eyebrow, and looked him up and down. "Though I'm sure I could teach you a few things before that wedding day, laddie."

She winked at him and the crowd roared and clapped their approval.

Kili could only stand still, his eyes wide, undeniably stunned.

"Ah," Young Bard said, unphased. He smiled and clapped Kili on the back. "Prince Kili, may I introduce the incomparable Madam Ruby? Nÿr's foster mother."

Kili heard old Bofur guffawing in unstoppable glee. "Oh, laddie. Your face…completely priceless!"


End file.
